


clutch & throttle

by wonuza



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Far Future, Friends to Enemies, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Racing, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, horny? yeah., ok. so imagine the movie speed racer...but make it kpop, plot? questionable, sexy gays going fast and having feelings, stupid? OH yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonuza/pseuds/wonuza
Summary: soonyoung feels like the biggest race of wonwoo’s life; high stakes, heart pounding, pedal on the floor, tires smoking and gauges on fire and needles in the red.  the problem is that with soonyoung, wonwoo’s pretty sure he’s in far more danger of crashing and burning, and he’s way past the point of braking--but there's no better way to get through a slow burn than in a fast car, right?





	clutch & throttle

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy. oh boy. oh jeez.
> 
> !!! NOW WITH GORGEOUS ART FROM THE INSANELY TALENTED [@SVTCHIPS](http://twitter.com/svtchips) !!! i'm so so happy to have gotten chips as my artist, she does such fabulous work and she did suuuuuch justice to these stupid ass children.
> 
> other things:  
> \- i didn't want to clog up character tags but this fic includes/mentions: all of svt, plus some of fromis9, the boyz, monsta x, izone, pristin.  
> \- wonwoo's siblings are sf9 zuho, red velvet seulgi, and stray kids minho, which i clarify bc there is more than one minho. stray kids minho is like baby wonwoo, though, hence bröthers  
> \- this iteration of soonwoo holds some kind of record for stupidest soonwoo of all time. they are HUGE FUCKING IDIOTS, and you've been warned
> 
> this is the most ridiculous and ambitious thing i've ever tried i think, but i had a LOT of fun writing it, and i hope you all have fun reading it! also if you livetweet it please @ me thank u

> Wonwoo is standing on the roof of a building with a boy who may well be the love of his life. The two moons that orbit the planet he calls his home are shining above, and the neon lights from the city below and all around them are suddenly too bright and blurring everything in Wonwoo’s periphery. The words he’s just said hang in the air, and Soonyoung stares, wide-eyed. He’s still clutching Wonwoo’s hand. Neither of them wants to speak first, Wonwoo can tell—but really, Wonwoo’s already spoken first, so he keeps waiting for Soonyoung, and watches as he finally licks his lips and takes a breath. 
> 
> _Kwon Soonyoung?_ a voice calls. Soonyoung turns toward the voice and lets go of Wonwoo’s hand—with nearly no hesitation, apparently having been desperate for a distraction, and Wonwoo’s heart drops. As Soonyoung turns back to him, eyes apologetic, Wonwoo’s brain filters it into slow motion. The shimmer on his cheeks reflects the lights like magic.
> 
> _I'll be back,_ Soonyoung says.

  


  


— — —

  


It's silent in Wonwoo’s apartment. He’s only just woken up, he’s laying in his bed, and he’s staring up at his ceiling. He doesn’t move, he barely blinks. For the few brief moments of groggy half-sleep he’d had—between waking up and now—he’d been able to forget the date looming over his head. Now, though, he remembers, and a steely ball of anxiety forms in his stomach. He shuts his eyes again, and wriggles in his bed a little, and tries to find the position that will put him back to sleep.

He can’t. He lets out a sigh—there’s no avoiding it, anyway. May as well get going.

He fumbles for his phone and blearily taps on it a few times until his lights go up, and in his kitchen out of sight, a pot of coffee starts brewing. He taps again to open his blinds—the light that comes through is grey and dull, and the sky looks much the same, and so does the city, spreading out and out below his one hundredth story window. “Is it going to rain,” he asks groggily, and the holo screen in front of his window flares to life, answering 90% CHANCE OF RAIN, THUNDERSTORMS PROBABLE. The forecast for the rest of the week appears below it, and Wonwoo waves it away with a flick of his hand and rubs his eyes before climbing out of bed.

He heads to the living room and flicks on his tv—a mistake, he instantly realizes, as a sports consultant is weighing the odds of next week’s race as well as profiling the racers in preparation for the start of the series. That ball in Wonwoo’s stomach climbs up into his chest. As he takes the cup of coffee from his coffeemaker, the girl on the tv is discussing Jeonghan and his apparent lack of conviction or actual desire to win at all, and whether earning his highest final placement yet last season will spur him into trying any harder. “One has to wonder whether he even realizes he’s been invited to the most prestigious racing event on the planet,” she’s saying. Wonwoo smiles. It’s actually impressive, how Jeonghan keeps rising in the ranks and still has everyone convinced he doesn’t try.

Wonwoo watches then as his own profile appears. He rolls his eyes at the figure of himself on the screen. It stands with its arms crossed, hip cocked to one side, vaguely shifting poses every so often as it rotates 360 degrees. He remembers filming for that. It had taken for fucking _ever,_ and the director had had to pry every stupid hammed up pose out of him. He can’t deny it looks nice as a finished product, but god damn he had felt like an idiot. His tv self glances toward his profile as it appears, each line of text glitching and flickering slightly—kind of a nice touch, Wonwoo guesses, if a little on the nose. JEON WONWOO, the screen reads. AGE: 25. AFFILIATION: SHIN RACING. FOURTH SERIES RACED, FOURTH CONSECUTIVE. PROJECTED FINAL PLACEMENT: 6TH. Wonwoo blinks, then shrugs in acceptance—at least they’ve got him moving up from his 9th place finish last year. It’s something. And it leaves him room to prove them wrong, as long as things go to plan.

Whatever it is the girl says about him, though, he determinedly tunes out. He’s pretty sure he can guess, and he’s going to hear it enough over the next several months anyway.

The screen changes again in a burst of color, and another familiar figure appears. Most (if not all) of the racers are relatively familiar to him, he supposes, but this particular figure is second only to his own in familiarity. KWON SOONYOUNG, the tv proclaims, and the little figure beside it blows a kiss. AGE: 25. AFFILIATION: PRISMATECH INDUSTRIES. FOURTH SERIES RACED, FOURTH CONSECUTIVE. Wonwoo scowls at the shiny silver driving suit and glossy red lips on the screen, as tv-Soonyoung strikes pose after pose. PROJECTED FINAL PLACEMENT: 1ST. Wonwoo laughs, unsurprised. It would take someone determined to be deliberately controversial to predict that someone who’s never lost a series _wouldn't _win.__

____

____

Someone determined to be controversial, or one of Wonwoo’s team who’s been working around the clock for a year to build him a new, cutting edge engine—someone who knows Wonwoo’s spent every waking moment practicing, studying every track on the planet. Someone who knows the full extent of Wonwoo’s history with Soonyoung, and not just the parts that have been publicized to death as part of their vicious and incredibly public rivalry. 

Maybe someone like that would place Soonyoung a bit further down the ranks.

Around then his phone rings, and Jihoon’s photo lights up the screen. “Answer,” Wonwoo says absently. “It’s too early for you to be calling me.”

In lieu of defending himself, Jihoon simply says “It’s ready, come down,” and hangs up. Wonwoo blows out a puff of air, and glances back toward the tv, where Soonyoung is still making eyes at the camera. He glares at the screen for a moment, then grabs his remote and turns it off with as much force and disdain as he can muster. With a growl of frustration he lets his head fall into his hands and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. A week out from the first race and his nerves are already shot; he’s already seeing Soonyoung everywhere he turns.

Still, though—he has an engine waiting for him, apparently, and that’s going to have to be what he chooses to focus on.

  


He takes his time getting down to street level to head over to Jihoon’s garage; he gets a few curious looks, a few whispers, but most people pass him by. Jeon Wonwoo, professional racecar driver, is easily recognizable—however, without the suit, without the lights and the cameras, with a hat pulled down over his curly mop of hair, he’s just Wonwoo, average person on his way to somewhere. He could be his own doppelganger—the city’s big enough, there’s probably someone not far who looks enough like him that they’ve gotten asked for pictures before. 

Wonwoo, however, does not feel like getting asked for pictures at the moment, so he pulls his scarf further up over his mouth anyway, just in case. 

There’s a rumble of thunder, and Wonwoo picks up his pace weaving across town to where the buildings are marginally less pristine, less shiny and stainless. The rain starts just as he bangs on the garage door, and when it lifts, Jihoon is standing there. “I,” he starts, turning around and leaving Wonwoo to pull the door down behind him, “have a present for you, buddy.” 

Wonwoo’s heartbeat ramps up, and he can’t help but smile. He follows Jihoon to his beloved #11 car—sleek and matte black and even more stunning than he remembers. “Hello, gorgeous,” Wonwoo says appreciatively. He flicks his eyes toward Jihoon long enough to ask “New wrap?” before turning his full attention back to his car.

“Mm. Hansol did it some time last week—the tape too,” Jihoon says, before hitting a switch on the wall and turning off all the lights in the garage, then slowly bringing one back up so the reflector tape accenting the lines of Wonwoo’s car starts to glow bright purple. Wonwoo whistles. “I know, right,” Jihoon says, bringing the lights back up and popping the hood. “But I saved the best for last.” Inside the hood is his car’s new engine, one of Jihoon’s own design and invention that he’s been working on perfecting for over a year. He reaches inside the window and turns the key, and Wonwoo watches the engine come to life, nearly soundlessly—but a faint magenta glow emanates from within the machinery. “She should get you close to 700 an hour, easy.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “And it’s safe?”

“You’ll have to test her out, but Hansol says it’s solid—totally up to code. And I made sure the compounds are stable. It’s a lot of power...a _lot,_ but you can handle it."

Wonwoo bites his lip. “I want to win, Jihoon.”

Jihoon laughs. “Yes, I’m aware. And you have a better chance than anyone else with this bitch under your hood.” 

“You think?” Wonwoo stares down at the engine as it hums softly. “Better than _anyone_ else?" he asks quietly. Jihoon smirks, but before he can answer, Hansol emerges from deeper within the garage, wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag.

“Let’s hope. I don’t want to lose my job.”

Wonwoo laughs, reaches through the window of his car to shut it off, and slams the hood closed. “I think by now you’re stuck with me.” He looks away and his smile fades just barely. That might be a lie. If he doesn’t beat Soonyoung this series, he’s not sure _what_ the future of his career is. But Jihoon and Hansol have been with him a long time, and he’s insanely lucky to have them, and he certainly doesn’t want to put _that_ pressure on them, so he doesn’t bring it up, doesn’t confirm the suspicions he knows are only half jokes.

“Are you ready? Excited?” Hansol asks, sitting down on a crate. He takes off one of his boots and tips it over—a screw falls out. He kicks it across the floor, where it rolls under a tool chest, to the chagrin of Jihoon.

“Neither,” Wonwoo says darkly. “I’ll get antsy for it the night before. That’s what always happens.”

Jihoon nudges Hansol, lost screw forgotten. “Once he’s in proximity to you-know-who.” 

“At least he’s got motivation.” 

Fuck these two. “Kwon Soonyoung is _not_ my motivation," Wonwoo lies.

“Don’t lie to us, we’re your team. We know these things."

"You know shit."

"Yeah, _your_ shit."

Wonwoo sighs, and Hansol kicks another crate toward him. He sits down, stretching his legs out and leaning his head back, stretching his neck. “Can we please talk about anything but Soonyoung.”

Hansol laughs. “Hyesung’s gonna push Jacob this year, I think. Like, an alternative to your whole brooding rivalry story.” 

Maybe having some of the heat off him would be nice—although Wonwoo’s not sure how compelling boy-next-door Jacob Bae’s storyline would be. That’s not fair, though, he thinks. He barely even knows Jacob, and if he doesn’t already have a story the company can work with, Hyesung and the board of directors will find him one. “Jacob’s a good driver,” is what Wonwoo says instead of any of that, still leaning back with his eyes closed. He’s distracted, though. Distracted from the conversation that’s supposed to be distracting him from Soonyoung.

Thinking about stories pretty much always leads to thinking about Soonyoung.

There’s a scoff from the direction of Jihoon. “You’re better.”

Finally, he opens his eyes, the bright lights and white walls of the garage stinging for a moment. “Well, I’ve been driving longer than he has,” he says. “Stop being such a bitter grandpa, Jihoon. It’s not a good look for you.”

"I'm being _loyal._ I don’t want some newbie stealing my boy’s win.” Jihoon pauses to glare at Wonwoo. “And bitter grandpa is literally my only look, and I do just fine, thanks.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Jacob’s not even that new, first of all, and second of all...I’m only worried about beating one person.” 

Annoyingly, Jihoon and Hansol smirk at each other. Hansol quirks an eyebrow. “But he’s not your motivation, though.”

“Shut up.” He exhales, hard, and cracks his knuckles. Then he meets Jihoon’s eyes. “When can I drive?”

  


Armed with the knowledge that he gets to wake up before the sun and test drive his new engine, Wonwoo practically skips back across town. Jihoon had offered to call him a hovercab, but this close to race season he gets jittery if he’s not the one driving—not to mention he’d prefer to be on wheels, on the ground. His mood has done a full 180, incredibly, and it gets even brighter when Chan texts him on his way home. It’s Chan’s first series, and he’s generated quite a bit of noise for himself—indie racers not belonging to one of the big companies usually do, when they manage an invite to the Prisma Cup. (Wonwoo had been over the moons when he saw Chan’s name on the list. If there’s one good thing he can admit about Soonyoung’s godforsaken company, it’s that they do tend to invite the best and most deserving to their stupid godforsaken series.) Unfortunately, the smile that had made its way to Wonwoo’s lips melts away as soon as he reads the text.

**chan** ▶︎ _You know how I was filming for that talk show today?_  
**chan** ▶︎ _Soonyoung was there_

◁ _My condolences._

**chan** ▶︎ _I just want to warn you they had him playing fuck marry kill and spoiler alert, it did not end well for you_  
**chan** ▶︎ _It airs tonight if you want to avoid it._  
**chan** ▶︎ _Or torture yourself._

Wonwoo sighs, because, well.

**chan** ▶︎ _Also his hair is silver now it looks wicked_

Evidently he’s going to torture himself.

  


And it _is_ torture. Because Soonyoung on television—Soonyoung when he’s really _on_ —has always been flirty and funny and charming and Wonwoo can’t even call him out for faking it, because it’s not fake. Soonyoung when he’s not on is still flirty and funny and charming. Just not to Wonwoo. 

Anymore.

By the time Wonwoo has settled in on his couch with a glass of whiskey, it isn’t long before the names of drivers are flashing across the screen behind Soonyoung and the hostess (randomly generated, she swears.) The audience whistles and _ooohs_ for every saucy thing Soonyoung says. Wonwoo watches without really paying attention—here, alone in his apartment, where no one can see him, he zeroes in on Soonyoung, stares as much as he wants, without fear of getting caught by Soonyoung himself or anyone else. He watches Soonyoung tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, watches him fold his legs up beneath him in the chair, watches him chew on his thumbnail when there’s a lull in conversation where the hostess addresses the audience or the camera. Chan was right—the hair is so good on him. It’s infuriating. He’s wearing a floral button down and pinstripe pants and high heeled boots, which is comparatively tame for him, but his makeup is done up in pinks and glittering silvers and it’s just all so incredibly Soonyoung. So bright it hurts to look at him. For a multitude of reasons.

Only when Wonwoo hears his own name does he snap out of it, and he snaps out of it to find Soonyoung fuck-marry-killing Jeonghan, Saerom, and himself. The crowd erupts into cheers and boos at Wonwoo’s name. Soonyoung beams as he waits for them to quiet down. “Well,” he starts, shooting a cheeky look toward the hostess. “I’d marry Saerom, she’s an absolute angel. Jeonghan...I mean, obvious, right?” He pauses for more cheers. “And I suppose that means I’d just have to kill Wonwoo,” he finishes lightly.

Right. Well. It’s not as though Wonwoo expected anything different. Fucking or marrying him certainly wouldn’t jive with their story arc, would it?

The hostess laughs, because that is no doubt precisely what she was angling for. “ _So_ hard for you, I’m sure?”

“Well, listen, if you’re going to _ask,_ darling…”

Wonwoo’s eyes threaten to roll out of his skull. The series hasn’t even started, for fuck’s sake, and Soonyoung is already _this_ unbearable. The only thing keeping Wonwoo going is imagining the look on Soonyoung’s smug, idiot face when he finally beats him.

If, he reminds himself. He’s trying not to get his hopes up.

_When,_ says his brain, though, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Jihoon’s.

Turning his attention back to the tv, Wonwoo finds himself staring at his own face—there’s a picture of him and Soonyoung on the screen behind the hostess. “How is your relationship with him these days?” she’s saying. “It’s been years since you left Shin Racing, do you really think he’s still hung up on that, or is there something more?”

Soonyoung’s quiet for a moment, and the fingers of one hand tap at his knee. “You know, I get asked this a thousand times every year, and I never have a better answer. I don’t know.” He gives an appropriately sad smile to the audience. Barf. “Of course, to hear him tell it it’s probably completely different, and there are a thousand things I did wrong, but truly? Your guess is as good as mine.”

Wonwoo looks away from the screen, glaring daggers at his trophy cabinet.

“Do you think jealousy has anything to do with it? He hasn’t exactly kept a consistent spot on the podium.”

Soonyoung smiles, and shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” A pause, then a smirk. “But, I mean…”

Huffing, Wonwoo drops his head into his hands. He wonders when exactly Soonyoung _got_ this way. He’d always been ambitious, dead set on winning, but it’s times like these that throw into focus just how much Wonwoo doesn’t know him anymore.

He has to win this year. He has to.

That train of thought gets interrupted, however, by his phone ringing from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter. “Who’s calling,” he says, lifting his head, and his phone projects its teeny, holographic answer above it: a picture of his siblings. “Answer,” Wonwoo says, and walks over to the counter, turning his back to tv Soonyoung and setting him to mute in an attempt to render him powerless. It doesn’t work, but he _is_ instantly distracted by the cacophony of his siblings all desperately trying to get the first word in, now that he’s picked up the phone. For a moment he listens, trying to decipher what’s going on: he catches a lot of swearing—Juho, he can only assume—and then something about how unprofessional it is to be talking about killing your coworkers on television—that’ll be Seulgi—which leaves Minho as the one calling Soonyoung an ‘epic douchebag.’

It makes him smile. His family is good.

But loud. “Guys, holy shit, you’re going to have to go one at a time.”

“I hate that guy,” Juho asserts. 

“Fuck that guy,” Minho agrees.

Wonwoo laughs, because the image of his siblings scattered across the planet, united in righteous indignance, is stupidly fucking endearing.

“Are you okay, honey,” Seulgi asks.

“I’m fine,” he assures them, and he kind of feels it, now. A few skeptical noises are the only reply he gets. “Believe me, guys. I’m good.” He pauses for effect. “I saw my new engine today.”

There’s silence for just a second before chaos erupts on the other end of the phone again.

  


When Wonwoo arrives at his city’s practice track, it’s still dark, and dead quiet. Jihoon and Hansol are there and waiting, and even when they greet each other they keep quiet. It’s not because of the early hour—that’s just so none of the other drivers from around here pop by and end up seeing Wonwoo practice. They’re quiet because this is a big moment. Wonwoo is about to test his friends’ creation, something they spent countless time and _lots_ of money on, something they made for _him._ Anything could happen, still, when he actually drives it. It could explode, or something.

...Or it could be something much less dramatic. Maybe it just won’t be as fast as Jihoon promised...but that would be a tragedy in its own right, at this point.

Wonwoo swallows hard, and with a last glance toward his team, slides through the window of his car. He runs his hands over the steering wheel, and grips it as hard as he can. Then he pushes the button for the ignition. The engine kicks on, nearly soundless—but Wonwoo can _feel_ how much power it has. “Fuck,” he says appreciatively to Jihoon, who’s leaning down at his window. His eyebrows wiggle.

“Sexy, right?”

“Very,” Wonwoo says. “God _damn,_ Jihoon.”

With a wink, Jihoon hands Wonwoo his helmet through the window. “Wait till you hit the gas.”

He steps back, and Wonwoo does just that.

The car takes off like a rocket, accelerates faster than Wonwoo can even make sense of. Honestly, if not for anything else, he can be grateful his and Soonyoung’s rivalry took off so much the past few years for _this_ —he can be grateful for it bolstering Shin Racing, and in turn giving Jihoon enough money to make— _this,_ because god fucking _damn_ he is going fast.

In fairness, the Prismatech drivers are probably all rocking an engine close to this one, but at least now—now he’s on their level. Now he has a chance.

He takes every curve without slowing down, sails off every hill in the track and each time he lands, feels his tires meet the track again, he can feel that anxiety and dread in his stomach slowly disintegrate and a tiny spark of excitement replace it—for a second, before _that’s_ replaced by a flood of determination.

When he’s run the track once, he decelerates, tires squealing as he skids to an abrupt stop. He crows with laughter as soon as he’s shifted into park, then he kills the engine and slides up and out. “Holy fuck,” he says, panting as his feet hit the ground. “Holy fuck. I might actually—”

“Nut?” Hansol finishes for him.

Fair. But not quite. Wonwoo laughs, and shakes his head. “Win.” Jihoon holds his hand out for a high five, which Wonwoo obliges.

“Jisoo’s coming later, and some of the others. Wanna hang around?”

That’s one of the many things Wonwoo loves about his team—that it’s a _team._ They come to practices together, even if the rest linger outside while one runs the practice track (they’re still competitors, after all.) So when the others from Shin Racing start showing up, Wonwoo smiles, and chats, and catches up. He’s appropriately cagey about his new engine, and his teammates are appropriately equal parts excited and intimidated. It’s early afternoon and Wonwoo is hearing all about Chaeyoung’s off season when Jisoo slides quietly into the seat beside her. “Don’t look now, Wonwoo. But he’s here.” So it begins.

He’s here to intimidate and make an impression, that much is obvious from his ridiculous sequin jacket and face full of makeup, from the way he’s carrying himself with overconfidence and smugness, the way he’s smiling wryly and just won’t stop. Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably, and stands, unsure what else to do as he watches Soonyoung make his way through the other drivers, stopping to chat one up every now and then, bat his eyes and wink at another. Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo turns and walks away toward the edge of the racing complex that overlooks the city, and he leans against the guard rail, refusing to look back at Soonyoung, because he knows he’ll be sidling up next to him soon enough with some smarmy remark anyway.

And he was having such a nice day, too.

It doesn’t take long. It’s Soonyoung’s stupid laugh he hears first, getting closer and louder as he banters with the others. Wonwoo takes a breath and braces himself. Here we go, he guesses.

“Hey Jeon.”

Without looking—really, without the greeting, and even without the smell of his stupid avocado peppermint shampoo, Wonwoo can feel him there, would know him just from the energy he gives off, the static charge from just being near him. “Kwon,” he says, still not looking up. “Should you be crashing a rival team’s practice right before a race? People might assume things.”

Soonyoung laughs. “They’d have to assume I need to steal strategy from the likes of you, and I doubt anyone would believe that. Did you _see_ channel 148’s projected ranks?”

“I saw.”

“Must be rough. The highest anyone’s put you yet, and you still can’t even crack the top five.”

Wonwoo grips his water bottle too hard, and finally looks up, straight into Soonyoung’s dark-lined eyes.

> _Eyeliner makes everyone look scarier, Wonwoo. It’s powerful stuff._

“We’ll see soon enough,” Wonwoo says.

Slowly, a smile spreads across Soonyoung’s lips. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, that’s precious.” Wonwoo just raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his water. “Don’t get me wrong, Jeon. Bring it on.” He leans in close, and then he leans in closer, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “I bet it’ll sting even worse to get even closer to the top and _still_ be trailing behind me.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “If I were you, Soonyoung…” He leans in even closer in a burst of confidence and it actually seems to catch Soonyoung off guard, if the way his eyes and his smile widen just the tiniest bit is anything to go on. “I’d go get in some practice.” He pushes off the guard rail and takes a step backward, grinning as wide as he can at Soonyoung. “You might need it.”

He turns, then, and walks away, willing his heart to _please_ stop beating that fast. “I don’t need it, Jeon,” Soonyoung calls from behind him.

“If you say so,” Wonwoo replies, without looking back. On his way away from Soonyoung, he passes Chaeyoung, who has apparently been watching the two of them with great interest.

“What in the galaxy was _that?”_ she asks.

“Just catching up,” Wonwoo answers, not slowing. He stalks to the complex bathrooms, where he locks the door behind him and grips the chrome edge of the sink before catching sight of himself in the mirror—god damnit. Mirror-Wonwoo looks back at him, flushed, looking an absolute mess, completely obviously flustered and affected. He hates hates _hates_ that Soonyoung can still do this to him, after all this time, and that Soonyoung never seems to let go of the upper hand, or show any cracks in his armor, no opportunities for Wonwoo to gain an edge.

For the thousandth—millionth, billionth, who’s counting anymore—time, he says to himself what he’s been repeating since the end of the last Prisma Cup: one race. One fucking race. He has to see Soonyoung behind him, even if he only knocks him down to second place, even if it’s only _one fucking race,_ if it’s the last thing he does.

  


Wonwoo had been about nine when he’d discovered auto racing. He remembers being mesmerized that the cars were on _wheels,_ that they drove on the _ground,_ and the rest of the world had felt the same ten years before that when it first started to take off, if the way they latched onto it with feverish excitement and obsession was anything to go by. Drivers became celebrities, races sold out in seconds, and the Prisma Cup, once it came around, was the crown jewel amongst a treasure chest of other, lesser races: twenty-five of the very best of the best, gathered together and driving against each other every other year for the most prestigious award in the racing world. One by one they’re eliminated, until the top five are left, and the winner of that race takes the trophy—all against a backdrop of intertwining stories and friendships and rivalries and triumphs and defeats. It’s half sporting event, half theater production, and Wonwoo had known even at the tender age of nine how special this old-timey competition was, known he _had_ to be a part of it at any cost. 

The cost thing hadn’t really been an issue until Soonyoung switched companies, but that hadn’t been Wonwoo’s choice to make. 

That mesmerization is long gone, mostly. During the off-season, or when Soonyoung’s being especially awful, he wonders why he’s still doing this. But on nights like this one—when he’s just arrived in a far-off city, exhausted, when he can see the track from his hotel balcony—he remembers. He feels the same rush of adrenaline he’d gotten at the first race he watched, the first one he drove, the first one he won. 

He looks up at the sky, where the two moons hang above him. In school he’d learned they’re on nearly parallel paths, one orbiting just ahead of the other—but the paths aren’t quite parallel, and they’re slowly, _slowly_ shifting, and one day in the far future, when the faster of the two—Yeomna—has lapped the other—Samani—their orbits will intersect, sending one careening into the other.

Wonwoo sighs. He’s a long way from home, and a short distance from kicking off the Cup, and he’s not sure where exactly Soonyoung is, but he knows it’s simultaneously too far and much, much too close. 

  


Chan asks to meet for lunch the next day—the day before the first race of the series. Wonwoo is on his way back to human-ball-of-nerves status, but agrees on the assumption that seeing Chan for the first time in months will distract him. 

It works, for a bit. Then Soonyoung shows up at the café Chan picked. He’s with Hayoung, one of his teammates and his new best friend now that Wonwoo is out of the picture, as the media likes to say. (Wonwoo finds this disrespectful to both Hayoung and himself, but what can he do?) They lock eyes across the small restaurant, and Soonyoung gives an interested little squint, then winks. Baffling. Wonwoo scowls. 

“This is getting ridiculous, you know,” Chan says. 

Wonwoo turns away from Soonyoung and back to Chan. “Why do you say that?”

Chan grins. “Because you’re both going to lose to me, obviously,” he jokes. It makes Wonwoo laugh, and finally, thankfully pushes Soonyoung out of his mind, at least for the moment. 

“Are you nervous?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Oh, shitting myself.” Wonwoo laughs again, and Chan continues: “I’m employing some heavy denial it’s even happening just so I can survive.”

Before Wonwoo’s first race, he hadn’t even felt the nerves. He’d clutched Soonyoung’s hand and felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

He clears his throat. “You have to relax. You’re gonna do great.”

It sounds cheap and generic as soon as he says it, and Chan must agree. He grimaces at Wonwoo. “I’m stressed. You know where the stupid projections have me? Going out in the first five races. Every single one. Not one consultant thinks I’m worth my spot in the Cup.” His face goes darkly serious. “Wonwoo, if I don’t even make the top twenty, you _have_ to kill me.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Well, if I don’t beat Soonyoung, you have to kill _me._ Deal?” Chan raises his glass and clinks it against Wonwoo’s. “Seriously, though, you’re a better driver than most of these people combined. It’s just that no one knows it yet.”

Sulkily, Chan leans an elbow on the table and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m a fucking joke.”

“You’re _underestimated._ That’s not a bad place to be, trust me.”

“Thanks.” He smiles, a bit. “And I do hope you beat Soonyoung. I’m sick of your whole _thing_ and the series hasn’t even started.”

Yeah, well, Chan can join the club. Wonwoo’s been tired of it for five years. His eyes raise and scan the café for Soonyoung. He’s laughing with one hand resting on Hayoung’s arm, then he hides his face in her shoulder when he tries to stop laughing and can’t. 

Wonwoo remembers when it was _his_ shoulder Soonyoung would hide his face in. 

“You know, we’ve known each other for awhile but I’m not sure I’ve ever asked...have you not, like, just talked to him?”

Reluctantly, Wonwoo tears his eyes away from Soonyoung. “He made it very clear he had no interest in continuing our friendship after he signed with Prisma.”

Chan tilts his head. “Did he, though? Or were you maybe just mad he left?” At the withering look Wonwoo shoots him, Chan raises his hands in defense. “Okay, not my business.”

“It isn’t that.” Wonwoo takes a sip of his milkshake. “I wasn’t angry.” That’s the truth, actually. He may be angry now, but when Soonyoung left...that was a different story.

“Don’t you miss him?”

Wonwoo shrugs, and nods. “But it’s like, half the time he just comes up to me and wants to act normal, and the other half of the time it’s the Soonyoung versus Wonwoo show...and it’s confusing, and I hate it, so.”

“You don’t think he misses you?”

At that, Wonwoo looks back toward Soonyoung and the group of Prismatech racers who have sat down with him. He looks back to Chan, then down, and shakes his head. It must be too pathetic to stand, because Chan takes a breath and snaps to get Wonwoo to look up. “Okay, enough. Let’s get back to my crippling anxiety.”

  


That evening, there’s a press conference—countless reporters asking countless questions. Questions about what the returning drivers have been up to for the last year, questions meant to get people interested in the new drivers; Wonwoo’s always found press to be exhausting, and it’s even more exhausting once the questions for Soonyoung start, because they don’t tend to stop. He’s sat next to Minghao, at least, who commiserates. “Didn’t I hear enough about this asshole when I was dating you?” he jokes, and Wonwoo stifles a laugh, even if there’s something in that statement that stings, deep down. Not the part about dating Minghao—they’re fine, things ended on good terms—but the idea that he’s spent so much time obsessing about Soonyoung and couldn’t even shut up about him when he was dating someone else. The thought puts Wonwoo in a sour mood immediately, and when the racers filter back to the hotel, to the bar where the pre-race mixer is being held, Wonwoo keeps to himself. He greets his friends—people like Seungkwan, or Hoseok, people from other companies who he’s barely seen in a year—but otherwise he stays in a corner, away from the celebratory shots and the friendly wagers and the continuous flashing of cameras, and eventually he leaves altogether, slipping out the back and walking a couple of blocks until he finds a bar that’s not brimming with light and sound. 

When he walks in and toward the bar, he doesn’t expect the first sight that greets him to be the back of Soonyoung—unmistakable to Wonwoo, and not just because of the silver hair. He’s nursing a drink and slouched on the bar, and Wonwoo huffs, nostrils flaring, but takes a seat a few barstools down anyway. He doesn’t hope to go unnoticed, because Soonyoung is too sharp for that, and can probably still sense Wonwoo’s presence the same way Wonwoo can sense his. When Soonyoung’s eyes raise, just barely, from where he’d been staring at his glass, Wonwoo gets his confirmation. Just the same, he orders his drink—at least he’s not talking. 

“I hate this, don’t you?” So much for that. Wonwoo looks toward him, confused and intrigued and annoyed by how casually he says it. “The waiting. I’m fine until _this._ Now I’m crawling out of my skin. Just wanna drive already.” Wonwoo nods, because that’s a feeling he understands. What he doesn’t understand is why Soonyoung’s talking to him like it’s fine, like it’s nothing, when it has never been nothing, with them.

_Click._ Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Someone’s taking pictures,” he mutters to Soonyoung, glancing toward him for just a second. 

Soonyoung grins. “Well, it’s not every day you see bitter rivals having a drink together.”

“We aren’t.”

“Aren’t what?”

Wonwoo scowls in confusion and finally turns fully to Soonyoung. “Having a drink together?”

As if he hadn’t respected that response, Soonyoung blanches. He seems to think about something for a moment, chewing on his lip. A few more shutter clicks sound from behind Wonwoo, and it makes his hair stand on end. “Hey...listen, I—excuse me, can you fuck off or something?” Wonwoo turns around to follow the direction of the glare Soonyoung’s now shooting over his shoulder. There’s a group of friends staring them down, hovering a meter or so down the bar. They quickly turn and scatter. “And this isn’t the fucking Stone Age, you can silence that camera noise, at least you’d be one percent less conspicuous, idiots,” Soonyoung calls after them. Wonwoo is almost amused, until Soonyoung slides over onto the barstool directly next to him. “Anyway. I—"

“I'm not sure what you’re trying to do here, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung freezes, and after a moment he scoffs. “Well, I was getting around to telling you.”

Something about his tone, and the way he’s looking at Wonwoo—a moment ago it had been normal, now there’s this vague hurt and anger there and what the _fuck_ gives him the right to be hurt or angry anyway—sends Wonwoo over the edge, and he stands, furious. “Whatever it is, I don’t have time for it.” He turns without waiting for Soonyoung’s reaction, and finds at least seven phone cameras pointed at him in ways their owners probably think are surreptitious. He scowls, and stalks out. The news tomorrow will have a nice new bullet point to add to his and Soonyoung’s long history.

And that’s what matters, right? Wonwoo had known going in. He should count himself lucky, to have the most hotly contested, most talked about rivalry in the industry. 

“Jeon! Wait!”

God fucking damnit with this guy. Wonwoo keeps walking, doesn’t turn around. “Get some sleep, Soonyoung, _big_ day tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder, voice as light and casual as he can make it. 

It must work, because he doesn’t hear anything else from Soonyoung. He walks back to his hotel, laser focused, forcing Soonyoung out of his mind, and when he gets there, forcing himself to relax and try to sleep.

Big day tomorrow.

  


— — —

  


> The funny thing is that Wonwoo had been the first of them to win. Back when they were on the same team, back when they were in this _together,_ best friends from the second they met. Maybe Soonyoung really had been a better driver all along, destined to leave Wonwoo behind—but Wonwoo had won first, with Soonyoung coming in second. They’d been in shock on the podium, they’d changed out of their suits in silence, even the ride back to the hotel had been quiet, but they’d got back to their shared room and when the door shut they stared at each other and slowly started laughing in disbelief. Soonyoung had thrown his arms around Wonwoo’s neck and held him so, so tightly. _What do I always say?!_ he’d exclaimed, and let go, and held Wonwoo’s face in his hands, smiling. _You and me, Wonwoo._ Wonwoo can remember so clearly how he’d looked at him. It was the first and only time he’d ever seen that look on Soonyoung’s face, completely lit up with pure adoration and joy. _I’m so proud of you, Wonwoo. No one deserves it more._ And Wonwoo had had to catch his breath, because the way Soonyoung had smiled had knocked the wind out of him and sent him reeling and made him feel like his chest was caving in and he’d never felt anything worse or better in his whole life.
> 
> And he knew what it meant, but he had no idea what to do with it. So he’d smiled back, and reached up with shaking fingers to take one of Soonyoung’s hands in his own. _I’m proud of us,_ he’d said.
> 
> Soonyoung had shaken his head. _You won._
> 
> _So will you._

  


— — —

  


Wonwoo stares at the hotel ceiling and tries to keep his stomach from climbing out of his mouth for a very long time before he ever leaves his bed the next morning. By the time he’s mustered the courage to sit up, the sun is barely risen. It’s early, and quiet. This city is much smaller than his own—back home, Wonwoo can hear the noise of the city even a hundred stories in the air. The contrast is eerie. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, and pulls out his phone. His socials are flooded with messages of support or people rooting for Soonyoung to drive him into the ground. He’s used to it by now, so he scrolls past to check the last pre-race report from last night, since he hadn’t bothered to watch after Soonyoung had pissed him off.

He winces at the memory. He’d maybe been kind of overly shitty to Soonyoung. It’s just that when he acts that way...it hurts. Everything is different, but Soonyoung won’t acknowledge it, wants to have it both ways, or something. And he knows, he’s known for _years_ how Wonwoo felt about the rivalry stuff, ever since he first started milking it after signing with Prismatech.

And other things. He knows how Wonwoo felt about other things, too, or almost knew—he _could_ have known. Wonwoo _tried_ to let him know.

Anyway. Prisma’s channel feed has the report—they’ll be running series coverage constantly, now, but the last one before the races actually begin is the one _everyone_ watches. Hyesung says Wonwoo should keep up to date on his public image, or whatever, so Wonwoo watches too. He skims through to find the parts about him—which are kind of just parts about Soonyoung, because that’s how it is.

“—sees the return of the continuing rivalry between Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung.” 

“I’m not sure how much of a rivalry it is anymore, considering Wonwoo hasn’t posed much of a threat for Soonyoung the past two series.”

“He _did_ move up last season—”

“Ninth overall, and Soonyoung is consistently on the podium—”

It’s an odd feeling, having a table full of people calling themselves _experts_ who’ve never driven a day in their lives dissecting your life, your successes and failures, your relationships.

“But Wonwoo’s improving, that’s the difference for me, he’s been improving and we have no idea if Soonyoung has anywhere else to go. He could have peaked, and we’d never know, because he’s been at the top for so long. If others keep improving—”

“You can’t seriously be suggesting the top isn’t the ideal place to _peak_ —”

“Which he hasn’t! If someone like Jeon Wonwoo is still improving, it’s ridiculous to think Soonyoung isn’t, I know he _seems_ overconfident but I think—I truly believe he’s smarter than that.”

“I don’t think you’re giving Wonwoo enough credit. If my best friend left for a rival team and beat me three series running...eventually I’d snap.”

“I can’t argue there. If anyone’s due for a snap, it’s Jeon Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo stares at his phone blankly, and then he starts laughing. It’s nerves, he knows, but it’s just so fucking insane. All those years of history boiled down to a sentence—it must be nice to be able to distill it like that, look at it from the outside, talk about it so clinically and cavalierly. He wonders what Soonyoung thinks of all this. 

He wishes he could ask him.

It’s probably not a healthy mindset to have, being this focused on beating one particular person, and he knows it. But it’s where he’s at. This series is crucial and not winning at least once is _not_ an option at this point. It’s like he thinks if he had just one win on Soonyoung after all this, it would tip the scales enough that they could reconnect, laugh about everything, maybe even be friends again, at the very least. He doubts they could get back to how they were, now, and maybe they could never even reconnect at all. That’s fine too. He’ll settle for dethroning Soonyoung, if he can’t do anything else.

Unfortunately, knowing a mindset is unhealthy doesn’t keep its effects at bay—so his stomach is clawing its way up his throat no matter how hard he tries to stop it when his phone chimes, making him jump. For one wild moment, he thinks it’ll be Soonyoung, but it’s what he’s sure is just the start of the flood of good luck texts he’ll be getting for the next—he checks the time—fifteen hours.

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Good luck little brother you're going to kill it!!_

**minho** ▶︎ _*ENGINE REVVING*_

◁ _Why are you guys even awake?!_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Jinnie’s too excited to see her Uncle Nonu race, she woke me up two hours ago in FULL #11 gear_

◁ _PICTURES?_

**minho** ▶︎ _i’m awake bc some people are not celebrities and have exams to study for_

◁ _You know I hate being called a celebrity_

**minho** ▶︎ _YOU know only celebrities say that bullshit_

◁ _Bite me_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _[001.jpg]_  
**seulgi** ▶︎ _[002.jpg]_  
**seulgi** ▶︎ _[003.jpg]_

**minho** ▶︎ _NIECE........._

◁ _God now I'm going to cry_

**juho** ▶︎ _THANK YOU for waking me up assholes_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Sorry!!_

**minho** ▶︎ _sorry_

◁ _Sorry_

**juho** ▶︎ _That being said_  
**juho** ▶︎ _Twin to twin_  
**juho** ▶︎ _I need you to leave blood on that fucking track tonight_

**minho** ▶︎ _*ENGINE REVVING MORE*_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Yes yes we demand blood but be safe please too!!_

Wonwoo chuckles. He’s not scared of accidents. For one thing, they could probably fix him up with cybernetics, the way they did Minghao’s arm—for another, there are far more likely ways for him to crash and burn.

Another text comes in, and reluctantly Wonwoo mutes his siblings, knowing they can go on for hours without stopping.

**jihoon** ▶︎ _i have a good feeling about this one._

The sun is starting to come in through his window. He steps out onto the balcony and looks out over the city. He can see the line of fans already waiting to get into the stands all the way from here. His lips curl into a smile.

  


The track lights up with neon the minute it gets dark—and from where he’s stood outside the garage complex, Wonwoo hears the fans erupt in cheers. It’s his absolute favorite sight, he thinks—an empty track, glowing and waiting for him. His mind conjures up the first time he’d seen this, right before his first race, before he’d had a storyline to worry about. Soonyoung had found him staring up at it and silently slipped a hand into Wonwoo’s, leaning his chin on his shoulder. _I can’t wait,_ he’d said.

“I can’t wait,” Wonwoo says, and Chan, to his left, turns to him, looking seconds from throwing up.

"Good for you."

Wonwoo laughs. “Come on, let’s get ready.”

It’s early, but Wonwoo drags Chan to the change rooms anyway. Only two people are there already: Mingyu, presumably there because he’s perfect and early for everything, and Soonyoung, sat in front of a mirror and doing his makeup. _For what,_ Wonwoo thinks, considering it’s going to be covered by a helmet soon enough.

“Are you guys ready?” Mingyu asks, nearly bouncing up and down.

After glancing at Chan, who’s still very clearly trying to keep his dinner down, Wonwoo smacks Mingyu’s shoulder. “Of course we are.” At the sound of Wonwoo’s voice, Soonyoung whirls around. They lock eyes for just a moment, and then Soonyoung turns back to the mirror.

Mingyu’s wide smile falters as he looks back and forth between the two of them. “Chan, you look awful, let’s get you some water or something…” he says, and Chan gives Wonwoo a pained grimace before Mingyu leads him away—and then Soonyoung and Wonwoo are alone.

Sighing, Wonwoo slowly makes his way toward the mirror. He’s still feeling this weird guilt about last night, and _anger_ that he feels guilty, because what the _fuck_ has he got to be feeling guilty about?! Nevertheless, he steps up, stopping just short of the vanity table where Soonyoung’s makeup is spread out. Soonyoung glances at him in the mirror before he goes back to brushing pigment onto his eyelids without a word. “Did you hear what they said about us last night,” Wonwoo asks, trying for casual.

Soonyoung huffs out a little laugh. “Ridiculous.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wonwoo continues. “I _have_ been feeling like I might snap.”

“Finally.” Soonyoung sits his brush down and his fingers hover over the table, searching for the next thing he needs in his routine. (Lips are next, if Wonwoo’s memory serves.) “Would be nice to have some actual competition.”

Asshole. But Wonwoo can’t help but smile. “Careful what you wish for, _Kwon._ You might get it.” 

Soonyoung snickers. “That’s the idea.” He pauses to apply some bright red lipstick, and then some shiny lip gloss over it. “Have you ever known me to not know what I want?” he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet Wonwoo’s in the mirror again.

Heart thudding suddenly, Wonwoo swallows, and chooses his words very carefully. “I can think of a time or two,” he says lightly.

It works. There’s the tiniest crack in the hard veneer of Soonyoung’s expression, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Wonwoo’s, unwilling to waver. “Can you,” he says, tight lipped.

“You know my memory’s like a steel trap.”

A pause. They look at each other, both daring the other to break. “You’re full of it, Jeon.”

“Maybe.” Wonwoo cocks an eyebrow, and with that he turns, walks back to where he’d set his bag earlier. “See you out there.”

  


The track is _big_ for such a comparatively small city, weaving over and under itself, corkscrewing and looping around and around, surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, more than Wonwoo can comprehend. They’re so loud Wonwoo thinks like he can physically feel the impact of it as he waits in the entrance tunnel for his name to be announced. When it is, he walks out, clutching his helmet to his side; he smiles and waves and breathes as deep as he can to stop the nerves from overtaking the excitement. Before he gets in his car, he puts his helmet on his head and switches on the display on the face shield—a new feature Jihoon perfected this year—he can’t see it from the inside, but he catches the words scrolling across his helmet when he looks for himself on the screen up above the track— 

**IF ANYONE’S DUE FOR A SNAP, IT’S JEON WONWOO.**

He pauses to let the crowd go wild—they do—and finally, a ** > ‘ ω ’ < ** flashes on his helmet a few times before he slides into his car.

“Nice job, killer,” Jihoon’s saying into his coms as Wonwoo settles in, checking his mirrors. “They loved it.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope I don’t get eliminated, or I’m going to look like the biggest asshole from here to the Milky Way.”

The crowd roars again as more drivers are announced. “You’re not going to get eliminated,” Hansol says into his other ear.

“No, you’re not,” Jihoon agrees, “and it’s honestly an insult to my mechanical skills to insinuate it, dickhead.”

Wonwoo laughs, and puts his hands on the steering wheel. His suit and his gloves are still beginning-of-the-season stiff, and the inside of his helmet smells like plastic. He exhales, shaky, and tries to steady himself. The announcer is hyping up the crowd now that the drivers are all in their cars, and Wonwoo tries his best to tune him out until finally it’s time to start.

One by one, Wonwoo hears engines coming to life—most of the loud ones are just for show—and presses the button for his own car’s ignition. His console lights up and he gives his gauges a once over and waits for the countdown. It’s surreally silent, the crowd and the engines falling away.

“Three—”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow and he adjusts his grip on the wheel.

“Two—”

His foot hovers over the accelerator.

"One—"

Ahead of him in formation, Soonyoung’s #54 car shimmers.

_Go._

Instantly, Hansol is in his ear again. “Alright, you’ve got Kyungwon ahead and to the right, she’ll probably brake too early in the first turn—”

But Wonwoo’s foot is on the pedal, and his eyes are on the track, and he’s already passed her. He breathes harder.

“Okay, uh,” Hansol laughs. “Well, alright, Younghoon at ten o’clock, it’s his first race and I doubt he’s done a lot of corkscrew tracks, you can probably catch him there—if—if you don’t—” Wonwoo weaves across the track, and before he’s registered it, he’s passed Younghoon too. “God damn, Wonwoo, let me do my job?!”

Jihoon’s crowing with laughter. Wonwoo smiles. “Remind me to suck your cock or something later, Jihoon,” he says, glancing in his mirror.

It’s only half a joke. He’s _never_ raced like this. “I’ll pass,” Jihoon says. “Seungkwan on your seven.”

Wonwoo watches Seungkwan in his mirror as closely as he can, and when he sees him accelerate he swerves in front of him, forcing him to brake, blocking him easily. The race continues that way for a few laps, Wonwoo blocking anyone who threatens to overtake him, or pulling ahead of them again within a few turns—until finally, Soonyoung’s car is in sight, the multichrome paint shifting color in the myriad of lights. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, okay, fuck,” Jihoon’s muttering.

“You’re not helping,” Wonwoo says.

His coms go silent, and so does the rest of the world as he catches up. Soonyoung’s car jerks left and then right, just barely. “He’s watching you,” Hansol murmurs. “Oh my god, he’s nervous.”

And Wonwoo has spent a year practicing, a year studying tracks, studying Soonyoung’s races. But he also spent multiple years learning to race with Soonyoung, and there’s some part of Soonyoung, no matter how small, that Wonwoo still knows better than anyone else. And when Soonyoung is nervous, he drives less risky. There’s a sharp turn coming up, where the track turns nearly sideways. Soonyoung’s hovering low—so Wonwoo floors it, ramps up the side of the track, and swings back down—in front of Soonyoung.

The crowd's reaction is so loud he can hear it through the sound filters in his helmet. “Holy shit, holy _shit,”_ Jihoon’s shouting, and Wonwoo beams.

“I told him to practice,” Wonwoo says smugly, hitting a hill in the track so fast he sails off the peak of it, tires bouncing as he lands.

“Okay, don’t get cocky, he’s right on your tail.”

In his mirror, Wonwoo can see other drivers approach Soonyoung’s car every now and then, but he cuts every one of them off, laser focused on Wonwoo. Wonwoo is laser focused right back, but Soonyoung still swoops around him again, stays ahead for awhile—until Wonwoo manages to pass him again. It’s _close,_ and it _stays_ close, and as they’re finishing out the final lap there’s a curve Wonwoo brakes just a second too soon in, and he can’t manage to block Soonyoung —he crosses the finish line just before Wonwoo, and wins. 

But Wonwoo’s in second.

He’s breathing hard as he decelerates once he crosses the finish. It’s his highest placement in years. He looks around wildly, before he remembers he should probably get out of his car, and climbs out, wrenching his helmet off his head and squinting in the blinding lights and infinite camera flashes. When he can see again, he looks around for Soonyoung, and finds him lifting off his own helmet. Instead of the triumphant, winning smile he usually wears, he looks frazzled, confused; then he meets Wonwoo’s gaze, staring at him in something like shock and, weirdly, excitement? Wonwoo blinks at him, but is interrupted by Jihoon and Hansol tackling him against his car.

Soon, he’s being led up to the podium—the _podium_ —along with Soonyoung and Jeonghan, of all people, who’d come in third. The crowd is on its feet, and Wonwoo’s heart is pounding in his ears. Second. _Second._ He could win, actually _win,_ actually do what he’s been aiming for all this time. As they’re getting pictures taken, Soonyoung leans over to Wonwoo, and says through his smile: “Enjoy it, Jeon. This is as far as I’m letting you get.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Oh, did you _let_ me get here, Kwon?” Soonyoung turns to him and his eyes narrow. “Gee, thanks, mister.” He raises an eyebrow at Soonyoung, then turns back to the cameras, smiling even wider.

He does his post-race interviews in a daze, giving mostly canned answers about how glad he is to be invited to the Prisma Cup at all, and how much he’s looking forward to the season, and how hard he’s been working, and how much he admires and respects all the other drivers.

“Even Kwon Soonyoung?” one reporter asks, and Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow. “Is it safe to say he’s your target this year?”

The whole gaggle of journalists goes quiet, and Wonwoo bites his lip, thinking. “Kwon Soonyoung has been my target for awhile,” he says, and slowly, a smile curls across his lips. “I guess it’s just that my aim has gotten better.”

Back at the hotel, Wonwoo leans against the door as soon as it slides shut behind him, dropping his bag and covering his mouth. Laughing, still in disbelief, he pulls out his phone, turning it on to a _flood_ of congratulatory messages: other drivers, Hyesung, his siblings, his parents...he reads them all in a state of shock, buzzing with adrenaline. He’s not sure what to _do_ with himself—he’s pretty sure he’s not sleeping any time soon. His face is plastered all over Prisma’s feed, mostly accompanied by summaries of his and Soonyoung’s history, and why tonight is significant, and what they’d said in their interviews. It occurs to him he has no idea what Soonyoung said, so he clicks play on the first video he sees.

“Honestly, I’m thrilled for him. No, no—really, I am! I think it’s adorable. I’m glad he’s actually gotten a taste of what it’s like to be ahead of me this year, even for just a second.” Soonyoung looks into the camera, smiling serenely. “Before I absolutely _smoke_ him.”

Not even that can kill Wonwoo’s high, though. Because Wonwoo isn’t stupid—he knows you can’t blow your whole load on the first race of the season. You have to have somewhere for your story to go, after all. He would have thought Soonyoung, of all people, would know that, but apparently not. _Apparently_ it hasn’t even crossed his mind that Wonwoo would have been holding back.

Which he had been. His car has modified lithium thrusters that he didn’t even touch.

That’s fine with Wonwoo. It’s like he told Chan: underestimated is not a bad place to be.

  


As Wonwoo is heading for his gate at the airport, someone nudges him, and when he looks he finds Soonyoung. “I can’t fucking believe you came _second,_ ” he says, and it’s almost _friendly._ Wonwoo looks around wildly, and raises an eyebrow. “And that helmet thing? Sick,” Soonyoung continues, impressed.

Wonwoo stares. “What?”

“What do you mean _what?”_ Soonyoung responds, walking in step with Wonwoo like it’s nothing.

Suddenly furious, Wonwoo stops in his tracks, bristling. “Soonyoung—” he says, and looks around to make sure they aren’t being watched. There are people around, and Soonyoung’s looking at him with wide eyes, but evidently placing well has made him braver. “It’s just, it’s bad enough the whole world is so interested in watching us hate each other, I don’t _need_ you making it even harder like this.”

Legitimately, Soonyoung looks bewildered. It’s ridiculous, and it only makes Wonwoo angrier. “Like what?”

“Like _this?_ You do it _all the time,_ acting like a complete prick one second and then the next acting like we’re fine and nothing’s changed? I can’t fucking stand it. Can’t you just—I don’t know, fuck off?”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows raise, and he laughs just once, then nods, and walks away, shaking his head. It might be the first time Wonwoo’s said anything like that—anything that real. He wrings his hands for a second and almost calls out to him, because they’ve never talked about this, and what if this is their chance—but he hears the sound of someone’s camera behind him, and rolls his eyes, and lets him go. Jihoon and Hansol show up soon after, and they can tell Wonwoo’s on edge as they board the plane; Jihoon gives him a questioning look, and Wonwoo just shakes his head. Before they take off, his phone chimes.

**soonyoung** ▶︎ _didn't mean to upset you. xx_

Wonwoo huffs, and ignores it. He has a million questions, but he doesn’t want to ask any of them. He can’t bring himself to, can’t bring himself to let Soonyoung _in_ like that again. Ever since what happened with them it’s been _hard_ for Wonwoo to let himself be open with people, though he does try, and he does have people he’s close to—it’s just that there had never been anyone like Soonyoung, and there hasn’t been since, and there maybe never will be again, because Wonwoo is terrified of history repeating itself.

But Soonyoung can’t know any of that—even the small outburst from earlier had been more vulnerability than Wonwoo is comfortable showing him, now—so Wonwoo can’t ask any of his questions. _Why do you do things that you know will hurt me. Why are you surprised when I don’t like the stupid shit you pull. Why don’t you realize how bad you’ve fucked me up. Why don’t you care that we aren’t friends anymore. Why didn’t you come back that night on the roof._

No—Wonwoo definitely can’t ask any of that.

  


— — —

  


Placing second has Wonwoo fielding a deluge of interviews and appearances, with Soonyoung usually lurking just around some corner or another. It has him anxious and jumpy, but he channels it into focusing on the next race, on riding the high of coming so close to winning, of absolutely blasting the shit out of Soonyoung in the press—but, uncharacteristically, Soonyoung isn’t retaliating. He just takes it, and talks about the races instead of Wonwoo. It’s bizarre, and suspicious. It’s almost worse this way, having him just go completely silent around Wonwoo like he has no idea what to say, all his bravado and overconfidence melting away as soon as Wonwoo comes into his eyeline. As the week and a half between races charges on, and Wonwoo keeps poking at Soonyoung, trying to goad him into firing back to _zero_ effect, Wonwoo decides: yes. This is worse. Now he feels bad for Soonyoung, and why the fuck should he do that?

Eventually it gets to be too much, and Wonwoo, because he is certified saint, takes pity on him. They run into each other in the bathroom at an event—Wonwoo walks in, and finds Soonyoung in front of the mirror, struggling with this ridiculous shirt he’s wearing. It laces down the back, only it’s come undone, and Soonyoung can’t seem to figure out how to fix it without taking it off. Their eyes meet, and Soonyoung freezes for a moment before looking away and returning to his fight with his shirt. Wonwoo sighs. “God, Soonyoung, listen. It’s even weirder with you going mute every time I come around.” He nudges him, and grins. “Come on. You’re barely even talking shit these days.” 

Soonyoung gives him a wild, incredulous look, and then laughs, mirthless. “I talk too much shit, I don’t talk enough shit, you tell me to fuck off, you tell me I’m being _weird_ when I do,” he says, and shakes his head. When Wonwoo doesn’t respond, he just slumps, leaning all his weight onto the sink in front of him. “I never wanted to be _this,_ you know,” he mutters.

It shocks Wonwoo. It’s probably the most genuine he’s heard him be in years. He furrows his brow. “What did you want, then?” he asks. Silence. Soonyoung doesn’t look up at him. Wonwoo’s gaze hardens. “What did you _expect?”_

But Soonyoung’s expression doesn’t return to its usual smugness or steel. “I don’t know,” he says with an air of finality, or not knowing where to go from there—and reaches for the ties on his shirt again. His ears have gone pink. Wonwoo sighs. God fucking damnit. He’s never going to escape.

“Here, just—” He steps toward Soonyoung. The back of the shirt is almost completely unlaced, hanging open where it should be corseted shut. Wonwoo’s eyes travel down from Soonyoung’s shoulderblades to the small of his back. “How’d you manage to make such a mess of this,” he asks, throat suddenly dry.

“A fan grabbed at it when I walked by and it’s been fucked since.”

Wonwoo feels himself bristle at that—he’s seen this before, because it’s been this way since their first series—the way people think they can just reach out and grab Soonyoung. He’s always wondered how Soonyoung really felt about it. The darkness in his tone suggests not good. It’s strange, after all this time, to see through the layers of persona, down to the heart of Soonyoung, and it smashes Wonwoo’s defenses. He takes a breath to steady himself, and then takes the ribbons at the neckline of Soonyoung’s shirt in his hands and starts to re-lace them, criss-crossing over his bare back. His skin sparkles, and sends shockwaves through Wonwoo with how cruelly soft it is when his fingers brush against it. His mind floods with thoughts of running his hands over Soonyoung’s back—over other parts of Soonyoung—and he feels his cheeks heat up. He sneaks a glance in the mirror; or, it would have been sneaky, had Soonyoung’s eyes not been burning into Wonwoo’s when he looked up. Wonwoo looks away as fast as he can, and wills his hands not to shake. They’ve been close, as in near each other, physically, plenty of times in the past few years—but this is different. This is unsuitably intimate, and they haven’t been _that_ in a long, long time.

It’s doing Wonwoo in.

Eventually the ribbons meet the small of Soonyoung’s back and Wonwoo ties them off, clearing his throat in what _must_ be a conspicuous way. He expects Soonyoung to be smirking, or glaring, or _something_ when he looks up at him again, but he’s not. He’s just watching, lips parted a little. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” Wonwoo says, and lingers just a moment longer before shaking himself back to his senses and turning to leave.

“Jeon,” Soonyoung calls, and Wonwoo stops, and turns around. Soonyoung chews on his lip, seems to be thinking awfully hard—he wrings his hands a little, and when he finally speaks it all tumbles out at once. “I’ll stop. I will. I won’t talk about you anymore, I’ll tell Prisma to think of some other storyline for me, I’ll leave you alone from now on, if that’s what you want.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise, surprised at the sudden willingness to leave things be. But it’s just—it’s too _late_ for that. He shrugs, helplessly. “You leaving me alone was the whole problem, wasn’t it?”

Soonyoung’s earnest expression drops, his eyes widen and he looks _terrified,_ shocked and more broken than Wonwoo’s ever seen him. Wonwoo shrugs again, and turns and leaves him like that before he can lose his nerve.

What in the whole entire _universe_ had that been about? Wonwoo walks out of the bathroom and back to the party, grabbing a drink from a waiter on the way and downing it. Chan’s waiting for him at their table, and he can tell Wonwoo’s shaken— “What’s up,” he asks warily.

“It’s nothing.”

Saerom leans over to Chan. “That means it’s Soonyoung.”

“I gathered as much.”

Soonyoung doesn’t return from the bathroom for a long while, and when he does his makeup looks notably less perfect, his smile significantly more plastered on. Wonwoo watches him close himself off—he drinks by himself for the rest of the night, turns down dances and drinks and god knows what other kinds of invitations from more people than Wonwoo can count. Wonwoo huffs in annoyance, now that Chan and Saerom have got up to mingle and he’s alone. Who does Soonyoung think he is, anyway? He thinks he’s entitled to all _this?_ Maybe what Wonwoo had said—maybe that had been a little too real. But how can that be bad, considering nothing about them has been real for years? If he hurt Soonyoung—well, he’s been hurting longer. It isn’t his fault Soonyoung left, or stopped calling, or texting, or anything. It isn’t his _fault_ that once it became clear the rivalry thing was going to propel them both to stardom, Soonyoung leaned into it without a second thought, and certainly without talking to Wonwoo about it. The things Soonyoung has done over the years that have made Wonwoo unable to stand being near him...they _haven’t been Wonwoo’s fault._ And all that for Soonyoung to—what? Try and be the bigger person, after all this time? Fuck that. Wonwoo refuses to give him the satisfaction. 

What Wonwoo does do, is drink until his vision is fuzzy, and hovercab home in a stupor.

Being right isn’t supposed to feel this awful.

  


By race day, Wonwoo’s spent hours upon hours replaying the incident with Soonyoung in the bathroom. What would have happened if he’d indulged Soonyoung—would they have just ceased all contact, never uttered each other’s names again in public or private? Or would they have talked things out, sooner or later? Wonwoo’s head hurts. It’s obvious they both want— _something,_ but he doesn’t even know what he wants, let alone what Soonyoung wants. And that’s not even touching the issue that at this point, it would take a miracle for Wonwoo to let Soonyoung anywhere near his feelings ever again.

His mind is going over this for the millionth time when he gets in his car, and it keeps him distracted for the entire race. He knows he’s lagging behind, taking curves too recklessly and over-correcting when he comes out of them, his timing is off when he brakes and his lap time is atrocious. He _knows,_ but he can’t shake Soonyoung out of his head.

He finishes in sixth place. A stellar placement in race two for any average driver—but for Wonwoo, who’d just had a career high moment, it’s a devastating blow. “Fuck my life,” he says as he brings the car to a stop. He dreads getting out of his car and having to face the crowd, the other racers, and especially the Soonyoung of it all. 

They barely have him doing any interviews that night—turns out, people would rather talk about him, or talk to other people about him, than hear his own thoughts on falling instantly out of the top five. He hides away in one of the lounge areas in the garage complex, aiming to avoid contact with as many people as possible. The post-race interviews are showing on the tv, and Soonyoung is sparkling away onscreen. Wonwoo tunes it out, mostly, until the conversation turns to him.

Maybe he _should_ have taken Soonyoung up on his truce offer. He’s in rare form, going on almost aggressively about Wonwoo being a one hit wonder, about all his wins and high placements being flukes, about hiding his lack of skill behind flashy tech. Wonwoo huffs, because people with common sense know better than that, but it’s still rough to hear.

Until Soonyoung gets asked if they’d had any contact since the first race, and the answer shoves Soonyoung’s stupid showboating out of Wonwoo’s focus altogether.

“Contact? I tried to make up with him,” Soonyoung says, sending a ripple of murmurs through the crowd of journalists. “He wouldn’t hear a _word_ of it. And it hurts, you know? We were so close, and it’s been so long now—I thought, maybe, it had been long enough, maybe we could try to get along. I guess he’s past that point.”

The blood vessels in Wonwoo’s eyeballs are threatening to burst, he thinks. The stupid slander, the stuff that can be written off as petty storyline-fuel—sure. Whatever. It sucks, but whatever. This? Bringing up their actual, personal, real life interactions? He looks down at his hands and finds them actually shaking with rage. He feels nauseous. Was that whole peace offering bullshit? Just so he could say this in front of the cameras, or get in his head?

As the tv shows Soonyoung waving and then turning away from the cameras, Wonwoo strides out of the lounge and toward the change room. He throws the door open and corners him when he finds him alone.

“Why the fuck did you say that?”

Soonyoung looks up, nonplussed. “What? Did I lie?”

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. “Why do you have to go out of your way to put us on display like that? What’s _wrong_ with you?!”

“What’s _wrong_ with me?” Soonyoung huffs out a cold laugh. “We’re famous, honey. We’re on display already.” Bullshit. _Bullshit._ Wonwoo can’t find words. “It’s a show, Jeon. I’m just trying to give people what they pay for. You’ve never understood how this works—that’s not my fault.”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to laugh. “Of course not. Nothing ever is, is it?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“How long are you going to pretend your obsession with giving people a _show_ didn’t ruin us?”

It shuts Soonyoung up. He goes silent, looks down at the ground.

“That was over the line, Soonyoung. The dumb fucking insults, the snarky banter—you can throw that at me all day. I can take it. But that out there?” Soonyoung’s biting his lip, and still won’t look up. “You want a story. You want people to think I can’t stand you. Congratulations.”

Finally, Soonyoung’s chin raises and he meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “I can’t do anything right with you, can I?”

Wonwoo laughs again. “I’m sorry, have you been _trying?”_

Soonyoung tilts his face up to the ceiling, nodding. When he looks back at Wonwoo, his eyes have filled with tears. “You are the absolute worst, Jeon Wonwoo,” he mutters, and gathers his things, and storms out, leaving Wonwoo confused, unsure how to feel, unable to form a thought besides the fact that that’s the first time Soonyoung’s called him by his first name in years.

  


“Why is it so much worse, this year?” Chan asks, and Wonwoo drops his head into his hands, covering his face. 

“I don’t know,” he groans, muffled. He and Soonyoung have avoided each other for nearly a week and a half, and since that last disastrous interview he gave, Soonyoung’s been quiet. The media is starting to notice, wondering why his interviews are so much less… _Soonyoung._ And they’re right—it’s easy to tell he’s off. What Wonwoo can’t figure out is why. “It’s like...the past few years, it’s been our stupid rivalry, it’s been stuff I’m used to,” he says, sitting up again and pushing his hair back restlessly. “But he keeps—it’s like he wants things to be fine, suddenly? And when he doesn’t get his way now he’s telling the press our _actual_ arguments?” He takes a drink. “That is _not_ what I’m used to. He never—I mean, it’s not like he’s ever aired the actual reasons behind us drifting, even though I _know_ he knows them.”

Chan looks up at him over the rim of his glass. “Which are?” Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, questioning. “The actual reasons.”

Well, he walked right into that, didn’t he? “Because he stopped texting, and we had no contact outside of his stupid interviews where he kept slamming me?” Chan looks unimpressed. Wonwoo tries to stare him down, narrowing his eyes and jutting out his chin—but Chan doesn’t move a muscle. “God, fine.” Slumping onto the table in their private booth at the restaurant, Wonwoo sighs. “The night Prisma scouted him…” Oh, this is not where he wanted this conversation to go. He feels sick. “We were at this party and he dragged me up to this stupid rooftop. And he started talking—he was going to tell me he was getting other offers, I think, but I already knew. I don’t know why he tried to hide it. And I just—wanted him to know there was nothing to worry about. I wasn’t trying to…” He lays his head on his arm so he can look up at Chan as pitifully as possible.

It doesn’t work. So Wonwoo looks away, staring at the wall. “I thought he felt the same. And if he didn’t feel the same, I never thought—I never thought it would scare him away like that.” He leans an elbow on the table, propping his head on his hand. “He didn’t even let me _say_ it.”

“Then how do you know he didn’t feel the same?”

A soft, sad laugh escapes Wonwoo. “If he felt the same, I don’t think he would have left me alone, told me he’d be back, and then not come back?” Chan purses his lips. “And then when I _did_ see him again, if he felt the same, he probably would have continued that conversation, instead of pretending it never happened. Right?”

Chan shrugs. “Sometimes...people do things that don’t make sense.”

At that moment, there’s a knock at the wall of their enclosed booth, and Chan perks up, peeking out of the curtain. “Oh, hi?”

It’s Hayoung who pops her head and shoulders in at them. Wonwoo wonders if she’s been sent to do recon, or something, even though that would be ridiculous. It _is_ Soonyoung, after all. “Hello,” she says brightly. “Do you think I could—there’s fanboys out there, is all, and I’m waiting for food.”

Silently, Wonwoo scoots over to make room for her. He’s always liked Hayoung—from afar, anyway, they’ve never really spent much time together—she’s sweet. And he’d save anyone from having to deal with racing fans when they didn’t want to.

“Thanks,” she says as she slides into the booth. “They kept staring. Not in a starstruck way.” Chan and Wonwoo both wrinkle their noses in disgust. “But, anyway! Are you excited for tomorrow? I really love this track—so many loops.”

The way Chan’s eyes widen is hysterical. “How many loops,” he says faintly.

Hayoung laughs. “Oh, you’ll be fine, you get used to them.” She sneaks a sidelong glance at Wonwoo before turning to him. “And _you._ You’re driving incredibly this year.”

“Thanks.”

She gives him a soft smile—and then her mouth opens, and then it closes again, and she looks sideways, then back at Wonwoo. “Um, Wonwoo,” she starts, unsure—and then her phone chimes. “Ah, that’ll be my food.” Wonwoo glances at her phone’s screen and knows she’s going back to Soonyoung as soon as he sees kimchi fried rice listed in her order. She stands. 

“Good luck tomorrow, Hayoung,” Wonwoo says, holding her gaze. 

“You guys too,” she says, and smiles again, and leaves. 

For a moment, Wonwoo stares after her. “She was going to say something,” he murmurs. 

“Gosh, I wonder what it could have been about,” Chan says absently, turning his attention to his phone. 

  


By the time Wonwoo has dragged himself back to his hotel room, he’s still not sure of the answer to what Chan’s first question of the night—why is it so much worse this year. Maybe nothing’s changed on Soonyoung’s end at all; maybe it’s Wonwoo who’s just nearing some kind of breaking point after all this time. Maybe he’s long past it, barely hanging on, maybe this has been a long, long time coming and now it’s happening. He’s not sure. The more he thinks about it, the more confused he gets.

Though he has to admit, it’s really nothing compared to how dumbfounded he is when his phone rings and it’s Soonyoung’s picture—one from years ago—that appears on his screen. Wonwoo lets it ring a few times, staring at it warily, before finally snatching it up and answering. “...Hello?”

“Hi. Sorry. Hi.”

Wonwoo blinks. Silence. “...Did you need something?”

Soonyoung clears his throat. “No—or, yes, but—just, I’m sorry for the other night. That interview.”

_Why the fuck_ does he keep apologizing for things? It’s not like him, not anymore. And what use does he think apologies are, this late in the game, when the damage is already done?

“I took it too far. I know that,” Soonyoung continues slowly. “I did it even though I knew you’d hate it. I did it _because_ I knew you’d hate it. So I’m sorry.” He waits, but Wonwoo doesn’t respond. “But also, you were a fucking asshole to me too. And...nothing I said to the press was a lie. I _did_ try, that night in the bathroom.”

Wonwoo bites his lip. “The problem is you want a simple solution and there isn’t one. It isn’t enough to just—stop being public rivals, even if we could.”

There’s a shaky breath from Soonyoung’s end of the phone. “Why not?”

They don’t have time to get into all that, even if Wonwoo _was_ prepared to talk about his _feelings._ But he isn’t. He can’t. “It just isn’t! It’s been five fucking years!” More silence. Wonwoo sighs. “I’m sorry too, alright? Because I can’t...I don’t…” 

Because he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say. Because he knows he hasn’t treated Soonyoung well, and he wants it to be justified, but he’s not sure anymore if it is. 

Soonyoung huffs. “Look...whatever. Can’t we just...can we hold off on ripping each other’s throats out every chance we get? Like, rivalry notwithstanding, isn’t there...haven’t we…” He trails off. “I don’t _want_ to have to hate you.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes before he can stop himself—but. He’s been harsh. And it’s been because he’s been hurt, but still. And...Soonyoung’s trying, at least, he guesses? But Wonwoo still can’t find it in himself to forgive him, or to trust him, or to try again. He’s not there. Maybe he never will be. 

“Sure. Alright. No throat-ripping. But Soonyoung...I’m not sure I can be your _friend,_ either.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says, his tone almost hopeful. “No, that’s—I understand.”

No, he doesn’t. Or maybe he does. Wonwoo isn’t sure it matters. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo echoes. He rubs his eyes, unsure what this has actually accomplished—he certainly doesn’t feel _better._ “I’m...I’m going to go. Hope you enjoyed your kimchi fried rice.”

“...Good luck tomorrow,” Soonyoung says. 

Wonwoo hangs up, and resists throwing his phone across the room. Now he’s going to be up half the night mulling over his Soonyoung Issues, as if he hasn’t spent enough time doing that. And the night before a race, too. Maybe this is all just a distraction tactic, and Wonwoo’s an idiot for falling for it. Maybe he’s an idiot for other reasons. It’s too much to think about, certainly too much to work through in one night. 

If it’s meant to be a distraction, it’s working.

  


He places second again in the next race. It barely registers. Standing on the podium next to Soonyoung makes him queasy. The tiny thumbs up and smile Soonyoung shoots him across the way when they’re both being interviewed feels like a bullet. He throws up in the change room. 

“You okay in there?”

That’s Seungkwan. He’d come third. Wonwoo peers over his shoulder where he’s crouched in the bathroom stall and sees his bright pink boots under the door. 

“Fine,” he calls back, and his voice cracks, his throat burning. He winces. 

Seungkwan laughs. “Yeah, you sound it.”

Glowering, Wonwoo opens the door a crack—enough that Seungkwan can see him hold up his middle finger. 

It makes him roll his eyes, and the next thing Wonwoo knows Seungkwan is shoving the door open, grabbing his hand, and pulling him to his feet. “Okay, come on, up you get.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Buck _up,_ Wonwoo,” he says sternly. “And brush your teeth.”

Despite his best efforts, Wonwoo smiles. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, nodding. 

But Seungkwan leaves, and Wonwoo’s smile follows.

Back in his hotel room, he sits near the window and looks up at the moons. The ache in his stomach has moved upward, settling in his chest. He’s drumming his fingers on the windowsill when his phone chimes.

**juho** ▶︎ _I just woke up, congrats!!!_

Wonwoo figures the time difference—it must be nearly afternoon back home. He sighs, and considers for a moment whether to fake gratitude. Then he shakes his head, and shrugs.

◁ _It isn't supposed to feel like this_

**juho** ▶︎ _What isn't?_

◁ _Placing well_  
◁ _It was supposed to give me the upper hand. Instead I just feel shittier than ever_

**juho** ▶︎ _What's he doing_

Juho knows him too well. Twin thing, he guesses, but still.

◁ _Trying to make sure I don’t hate him? Asking for a fucking truce, trying to be friends???_  
◁ _It’s such a headfuck I can barely enjoy almost winning_

**juho** ▶︎ _You're enjoying it a little, though?_

◁ _Generally, yeah, I guess?_  
◁ _All things considered I'm doing great_  
◁ _Racewise_

**juho** ▶︎ _So that’s something_  
**juho** ▶︎ _Considering you've been fucking miserable ever since You Know What._

Juho really, really knows him far too well.

◁ _Miserable is a strong word._

**juho** ▶︎ _You're forgetting I'm the smart one._  
**juho** ▶︎ _ANYWAY. What did you say? Are you guys friends again?_

◁ _NO?_  
◁ _I told him we could be civil, whatever that means. Not friends_

Wonwoo bites his lip, and rolls his eyes at himself as he types out his next message.

◁ _Do you think I was wrong?_  


**juho** ▶︎ _I understand why you wouldn't want to be his friend._

Well, at least someone—

**juho** ▶︎ _You've never wanted to be just his friend._

God _fucking_ damnit.

◁ _You know I'm over him._  


**juho** ▶︎ _...TWIN._

◁ _You fucking suck_  


Wonwoo can’t sit still, after that. That’s such an unfair assessment—for one thing, _why_ would he still have feelings for someone who’s treated him this way; for another, if that was the case, how does Juho explain Minghao? Or Changkyun, considering he and Wonwoo were together for _over a year?_

This is bullshit. 

He catches a red eye flight back home. The entire ride is jittery and uncomfortable, but it gets him further away from Soonyoung faster. The second his door slides shut behind him he slumps back against it. 

This whole stupid rivalry thing. It had been bad enough from afar—now, it’s incredibly close, and Wonwoo isn’t sure he can handle it.

  


— — —

  


By the third time Wonwoo ends up on the podium, it’s safe to say the thrill has worn off. 

He places third, this time, and it’s great, it keeps his momentum and his hype up. It’s just that he hadn’t realized how taxing it would be—getting that close to winning, over and over, and _still_ trailing behind Kwon fucking Soonyoung.

“Nice job, Jeon,” is what Soonyoung says while they’re on the way to this stupid after party they’re expected to show up at. It comes off a little nervous, a little fragile. 

Wonwoo scowls. “If we’re trying to be civil should you really still be calling me _Jeon?”_

Soonyoung blinks a couple of times, then turns away, casual and calm. “I thought maybe your first name would be too _friendly.”_ He says it like it’s part joke—but the set of his jaw tells Wonwoo otherwise. 

It’s some stupid appearance Hyesung had approved, this party—the podium racers all just kind of _being_ at this club, for people to...look at, Wonwoo guesses? It seems pointless, and annoying. It gets worse when after a few moments of them being left in the VIP area they’re meant to stick to for most of the night, Soonyoung starts being. Well. Soonyoung. 

“Hoseok, darling, how are they treating you over at Triple X?” he asks. “Prisma misses you.”

Minghao is under Triple X. They’re the second biggest company after Prismatech, but Wonwoo remembers Minghao having control over his image, his storyline, his friendships—so Wonwoo can understand why Hoseok would leave, even if Soonyoung can’t. 

“It’s really good—“

“ _I_ miss you,” Soonyoung says, batting his eyelashes and angling his body toward Hoseok on the leather couch. 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, and flags down a waiter. “Alcohol, please.”

As Wonwoo drinks, Soonyoung and Hoseok get closer and closer on the couch, whispering and giggling softly to each other. It isn’t like Wonwoo’s never seen Soonyoung do this before—but he doesn’t usually have a front row seat. He imagines they must look ridiculous: Soonyoung and Hoseok huddled close together, all gazing at each other dreamily...and Wonwoo, perched on the arm of the other end of the couch, sipping his drink and glaring at nothing. 

Everyone in this place will have it plastered all over their socials by tomorrow morning. 

On Wonwoo’s fourth drink, Soonyoung climbs into Hoseok’s lap. “Jesus,” Wonwoo mutters, his eyes threatening to roll out of his skull. He tries to stay focused anywhere else, but his eyes keep drifting back. They’re kissing, now, and Hoseok has his hands under the back of Soonyoung’s shirt, and for whatever reason, that’s what does it. 

Afraid he might shatter his glass if he grips it any harder, Wonwoo sits it down, flexing his now empty fingers. He stands—neither of his fellow drivers notice—and stalks out of the lounge. Fuck it. Hyesung can withhold his appearance fee for all he cares. 

He spends the rest of the night at the bar, downing drink after drink, until his head gets too heavy for his body, and he decides he needs to sleep. But it’s too _loud_ to sleep here. So he stands. Only the floor is slanted suddenly, so it’s hard. He heads outside and looks to his left, then his right—neither looks like the way to his apartment.

He starts walking left. 

Incredibly, though, a hovercab stops to pick him up, and Wonwoo feels himself ushered inside by someone behind him. He whines, but gets in, then he looks up, and finds himself looking at Soonyoung. 

“You always were awful with booze, Jeon. What were you thinking,” he says, an amused smile on his face. It’s almost _fond._ “Let’s get you back.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes in suspicion. “You don’t know where I live.”

“What? We’re a thousand kilometers from where you live. Were you looking for your _apartment?”_ He chuckles when Wonwoo pouts in response. “We are, however, staying in the same hotel.”

“Stalker,” Wonwoo mutters darkly, hearing Soonyoung snort as he leans his forehead against the window. 

The cab ride passes in silence, as does the elevator ride up to Wonwoo’s floor. Around then is when it starts to become clear how wasted he is, which is the _only_ reason he lets Soonyoung gently guide him through the door of his room. 

He expects Soonyoung to leave. Soonyoung does not leave. Soonyoung takes his shoes off as the door slides shut behind him. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Soonyoung laughs, a little. “Was I supposed to just let you get yourself killed trying to navigate an unfamiliar city while hammered? I’ve tried, believe me, it doesn’t work. The lights all blur together—it’s like being on drugs.”

Sighing, Wonwoo flops onto the bed and lets his head hit the pillow. He looks up at Soonyoung, who’s sat on the bed as well. “You’ve never done drugs,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t even get you to smoke with me.”

To Wonwoo’s utter bemusement, Soonyoung lays down beside him, smiles, casts his eyes down in acquiescence. “I tried once.”

“Yeah,” he says, and swallows thickly. “And you hated it. You expect me to believe you’ve gone crazier than a cigarette?” 

There’s a teeny smile on Soonyoung’s face now, but he’s still looking down, not at Wonwoo. 

And he’s way too close. Wonwoo can smell him, alcohol and expensive cologne and avocado peppermint shampoo. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Wonwoo murmurs, and finally, Soonyoung meets his eyes. 

“Do what?”

He’s sobering up, or something like it, and it’s awful, but it’s not enough to keep him from talking. “It’s too hard, Soonyoung. I don’t know what’s for show and what’s not. I don’t which parts of us are real or which parts are for the cameras or which parts were just in my head all along.”

Soonyoung stares. Wonwoo thinks he sees his lip quiver. “If you don’t know whether I’m _real_ or not maybe you never knew me at all.”

“Maybe I didn’t. I certainly don’t know you now.” Soonyoung looks away and rubs at one eye, smudging his eyeshadow. “What are you even _doing_ here? Honestly? Don’t you have, like, a line of people waiting to screw you?”

It’s petty, and stupid, and Wonwoo knows it, but he says it anyway, because he feels petty and stupid right now. And drunk. 

In any case, it makes Soonyoung purse his lips. “A minute ago I was kind of thinking drunk you was less mean than sober you, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “That’s really a shitty thing to say to someone who went out of his way to get you here safe.”

“Like you care.”

“I _do_ care,” Soonyoung snaps. 

They look at each other for a moment, Soonyoung’s eyes hard and determined. Wonwoo’s eyes just feel tired. “How the fuck am I supposed to believe you?” he whispers. 

Soonyoung whispers his reply, but the hurt edging into his voice is clear. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Mirthless, Wonwoo laughs. “For now.”

Lightning fast, Soonyoung turns away and faces the ceiling. “Please stop,” he says, his voice breaking. “Please just stop, and let’s not be terrible to each other for ten minutes until you fall asleep.”

Wonwoo laughs again. “Okay, Kwon. Whatever you want.”

  


He doesn’t remember Soonyoung leaving, but he’s gone when Wonwoo wakes up and he’s left no trace except rumpled bedcovers—which Wonwoo looks down at, and sighs. God, he wishes he’d been drunker. He remembers everything about their conversation last night, and most of it is not pretty. This can’t be what people mean when they say they’re going to be nice to each other, right? Like, Wonwoo probably shouldn’t have said...most of the things he said, and Soonyoung shouldn’t have—

Wonwoo blinks. Shouldn't have what? Made sure he got back to the hotel in one piece?

God fucking damnit. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Soonyoung isn’t supposed to be the one being _mature_ and making an _effort._ That is such absolute nonsense. Because if Soonyoung’s being mature, and making an effort, that means he really wants to fix things. But if he really wants to fix things, why is he still being an asshole half the time? That interview thing, where he put his and Wonwoo’s personal shit on blast—that wasn’t cool. The making out with Hoseok while Wonwoo was _right there_ —well, common decency should have taken care of that. 

And after all of it, Soonyoung is still playing him hot and cold, whether he means well or not. But if Wonwoo can’t decide whether he wants him to leave him alone, or be mean, or be nice—is he any better? Fuck. He’s in Wonwoo’s head. He—

Wonwoo’s phone rings. Only, he looks, and it’s not his phone.

Soonyoung left his phone here, and now Hoseok is calling.

“Fuck my life,” Wonwoo says, and drags himself out of bed to start packing his things.

  


Fate has it out for Wonwoo, so he and Soonyoung arrive in the hotel lobby at the same time. Wonwoo fully intends to avoid him, but Soonyoung grins brightly at him. “Jeon,” he calls, as if last night hadn’t happened. “Not too hungover, I hope? Oh—you know Hyunjoon, right?”

He does. Hyunjoon is another driver from Prismatech—fairly new, coming onto the scene being touted as Kwon Soonyoung’s protege. “Hi,” Wonwoo says to him, mostly distracted. He turns to Soonyoung, then hesitates to glance around the lobby. No one’s taken notice yet, but it’s full of people. “Come with me for a second?” 

Soonyoung’s eyebrows raise, but he follows Wonwoo anyway. Wonwoo doesn’t want to go far, but he also _really_ doesn’t want to be seen—he spots a door at the end of a hallway and opens it.

It’s a supply closet. It’ll do. He pulls Soonyoung inside. “You left your phone.”

“Oh.” Strangely, Soonyoung’s face falls, his eyes dimming slightly. “Thanks.”

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Yeah. Hoseok called...probably sad you stood him up.” Almost immediately, he regrets saying it, as Soonyoung rolls his eyes and looks away as his cheeks go slightly red. “Anyway. Here.” He shoves the phone into Soonyoung’s hand, and tries not to shiver when their fingers brush.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks...uh, thanks for getting me back here.”

“...Yeah.” Soonyoung looks at him, and Wonwoo looks back, and Soonyoung’s expression is so _strange_ —he’s kind of smiling, but not really, and his eyes are sad, and there’s this undertone of resignment to it all—the aftermath of the past five years, written across Soonyoung’s face.

It’s heartbreaking. For the first time, Wonwoo sees it from the other side, from _Soonyoung’s_ side, and it’s _heartbreaking._

After a moment, Soonyoung breaks into a grin, and cocks an eyebrow. “What are frenemies for?”

Wonwoo actually laughs, and then they’re quiet, alone in this stupid tiny room. The laughter lingers on Wonwoo’s face in the form of a smile—maybe the first real one he’s shared with Soonyoung in years. “...See you later, Soonyoung.”

He peeks out the door before leaving, and slips out, unnoticed as far as he can tell, but he only makes it a few steps into the lobby before Saerom accosts him.

“Were you in there with _Soonyoung?”_

Wonwoo glances darkly from side to side. “No.”

Saerom smacks his arm. “Liar. I saw you.”

“Then why’d you ask?” He adjusts his duffle bag on his shoulder.

Before speaking again, Saerom bites her lip. “I was talking to Hayoung…” Of course she was. “She says Soonyoung is really different this year. Sad all the time. Is that your doing?”

Glancing over his shoulder just to make sure Soonyoung’s not lurking, Wonwoo sighs. “Probably.” With that, he shoulders ahead of Saerom, and climbs into his cab, and drops his head into his hands.

“Okay there?” his driver asks warily.

“Fine. Go.”

  


— — —

  


◁ _Soonyoung did something._  


**seulgi** ▶︎ _Uh???_

◁ _I got really drunk the other night and he took me back to my hotel room_  
◁ _What does that mean_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _I guess probably that he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you?_

◁ _I think maybe I'm a shitty person._  
◁ _I thought I was in the right this whole time but now I don’t know_

__

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Well...I don’t think you’re a bad person and I do think you’ve been in the right! But maybe Soonyoung is really trying to make things better?_  
**seulgi** ▶︎ _You were best friends! Maybe you should give him a chance_

He’s been having the same thoughts, about chances and the like. But he’s not sure he can bring himself to do it, to let Soonyoung _close_ again.

So he decides to put it out of his mind. It isn’t like he’s obligated, or anything—he acknowledges maybe he’s been colder than necessary, and if he stops that, well, it’s something, and it doesn’t necessarily require any drastic vulnerability on his part as long as he keeps his distance.

This is good. This is a plan. This is something Wonwoo can work with, this is something that maybe doesn’t have to consume his every waking moment. And that’s preferable, since he still has races to win.

His shift in mood is noticeable instantly; Chan and Jihoon and Hansol and Chaeyoung and everyone else who spends any prolonged amount of time with him all seem to realize and comment. It doesn’t surprise him—after a day of not obsessing over Soonyoung, he feels _great._ He’s been placing on the podium, why has he barely been excited about it?

In the lead-up to the next race, he focuses on just that, and he gives Soonyoung a nod and a grin when they pass each other in hallways. When they’re in public, he shoots him dirty, exasperated looks so the cameras can catch him and their rivalry doesn’t completely cool down. A few of them get called to do a talk show, mostly the high placers so far this series, and Wonwoo dutifully rolls his eyes at most of what Soonyoung says, while in his head he’s trying to remember when his tire sponsorship expires, because he’s kind of been considering trying a different brand—

There’s a collective _awwwww_ from the crowd at the taping, and then a little boy, maybe six years old, is led up to the soundstage and introduced as Soonyoung’s biggest fan. Soonyoung instantly is out of his chair and crouching next to him—he’s dressed in what looks to be a tiny homemade version of Soonyoung’s jumpsuit, and Soonyoung fawns over him and pats his cheeks and it takes _everything_ in Wonwoo not to smile and ruin the illusion.

As he watches, however, that becomes less of an issue. The Soonyoung in front of him is the Soonyoung Wonwoo _knows._ This is the kind of thing Soonyoung and Wonwoo would daydream about together, the kind of thing Soonyoung always assured Wonwoo would happen for them. And it’s here, and Soonyoung is _here,_ and Wonwoo is watching from a few short meters away. Soonyoung beams, and hugs the tiny mini-Soonyoung as hard as he can, and Wonwoo’s stomach lurches and his heart does something _terrifying_ and he looks away as fast as he can, but it’s not fast enough; no, it’s much, much too late.

Wonwoo’s brain shuts down, and the rest of the taping passes in a fog. He stands when they’re given the okay, and stumbles vaguely over to a dark corner, where he leans against the wall and stares into space. Unfortunately, his eyes land on Soonyoung, who has found the little boy again and is talking excitedly to his mother.

“Wonwoo!” It’s Minghao. Wonwoo turns toward the voice and blinks, dazedly. “I think me and some of the others are gonna go out in a bit, do you want to come?”

Before he realizes it, Wonwoo’s shaking his head. “No,” he says, his throat dry suddenly. “No thanks. I’m really tired and—not feeling well. I’m just gonna head home and rest.”

That’s a lie, and Wonwoo knows it. He can tell he’s going to be doing anything _but_ resting. When he gets back to his apartment he drops his bag on the ground and lets his shoulders slump and his head fall backwards. “Oh my god, this isn’t fucking happening,” he says into his dark, empty living room.

He should have just kept hating him.

  


It had happened so fast, the first time around. Wonwoo knows that now; he’s been able to look back and recognize it for a long time now. It had taken him maybe four months, not even half a year of the two they spent learning and training for him to fall in love with Kwon Soonyoung. He can see it _now,_ but back then, while it was happening, he hadn’t realized. And when he finally started to, he’d pushed it down as far as he could. When he found his eyes wandering to Soonyoung’s body when they’d shower after practice runs, he’d tear them away and will himself to think of anything else. At night, Wonwoo would still be awake in their shared bedroom, staring at the ceiling to keep from staring over at Soonyoung, and he’d tell himself it was nothing. When not staring didn’t work and his mind wandered _back_ to Soonyoung’s body, he wrote it off as a fluke no matter how many times it happened, even when his hand wandered too. When his heart beat harder at the sound of Soonyoung’s laugh, or the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled, or the curve of his cheeks or the softness of his hands in the fleeting, casual touches he bestowed upon Wonwoo—when he _knew_ deep down that it wasn’t a fluke, he still tried his best to ignore it.

When they started racing, Soonyoung blossomed under the attention and flourished at social events in ways Wonwoo knew he never could. But it only made Soonyoung cling to Wonwoo more, say more things into his ear, just for him, find him when he was alone so they could be alone together, because they were doing this _together._ That’s what he always said. He had always assured Wonwoo that this was theirs for the taking. _You and me, always,_ he’d say, and smile, and every time, Wonwoo would agree, even toward the end when his tongue felt like sandpaper and he had to hide his hands so Soonyoung wouldn’t see them trembling. 

> _Always._

  


“I am so fucking stupid,” Wonwoo says, because it’s how he feels. Who goes multiple years thinking they’re over someone, thinking they _hate_ someone, and ends up back at square one?

“You’re not,” Chan says, and then he pauses, tilting his head. “I mean, you are a little.”

Wonwoo makes a surly little noise of annoyance. “I’ve barely slept in almost a week, and I have to race tomorrow. Do you know how much thinking about _racing_ I’ve done lately?” He shakes his head, and rubs his eyes, and flicks ashes off his cigarette. 

> _Why do you even still smoke real cigarettes, Wonwoo? You know the new digital ones are supposed to simulate the exact same thing, only they don’t ruin your lungs—_
> 
> _Yeah, well, old habits die hard, Soonyoung._

The habit Wonwoo is currently grappling with is proving particularly hard to kill.

“I’d tell you to focus on the race, but I get that that’s not really a viable option.”

Okay, what the fuck does that mean? “What the fuck does that mean?”

Chan stretches out in the chair on the balcony of his hotel room. “It means,” he says, pausing to yawn, “that I’ve raced four races in one series with the two of you and it is extremely clear that the whole… _thing_...with you guys…” Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but feels his cheeks burn. “Wonwoo. All I’m saying is that it’s obvious how...how important it is to you. And don’t give me that look, you wouldn’t be angsting and bitching and agonizing if he wasn’t important to you. It’s not a _bad_ thing. It’s...bad timing, maybe, I guess.”

It sure as fuck is. Wonwoo laughs, but it fades quick. He hates that after all this time, Chan’s right: Soonyoung is important. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. “Because this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change that I can’t...trust him the same as I did. It just makes things harder.” He furrows his brow and chews the inside of his cheek for a second. “And I’d stop it if I could, but I don’t…” In the split second he allows himself to glance up at Chan, he sees that he’s got this pitying, understanding look, and Wonwoo hates it, even though he knows it’s well-intentioned. He looks back down, and stubs out his cigarette with Soonyoung’s stupid health concerns from six years ago ringing in his ears. “But I don’t think I can.” 

  


Wonwoo still hasn’t slept when he’s waiting to be announced at the next race, and it has him skittish. He’d been third, so he’ll be announced third to last, and he doesn’t want to _wait_ that long—he just wants to get out there and drive, and then sleep for a week and a half. The announcer’s voice grates on his ears when he finally starts talking: “It’s a beautiful evening here for the fifth race of the 2899 Prisma Cup…”

The fifth race. He’d been so preoccupied he didn’t even realize.

Their second series—the first after Soonyoung left Shin Racing—Wonwoo had gone out in the fifth race. He’d been distracted, unfocused, because he’d spent so long leaning on Soonyoung that when he couldn’t...he was lost. He didn’t know how to do this without him, and he went out in the fifth race of the series.

Now, Wonwoo doesn’t know how to do this _with_ him, and he’s about to drive the fifth race of the series. His stomach plummets. He didn’t think he could feel worse about this race, and he’d been wrong.

Maybe he’ll feel better once he’s driving, he thinks—but he doesn’t. His helmet feels too tight, his hands are sweating in his gloves, and mentally he’s driving a track far from this one, five years ago.

It hadn’t been the losing that had made that the worst race of his life. It had been what happened after.

In reality, Wonwoo loses his starting position of third almost immediately.

> ◁ _Hey._  
>  ◁ _I don’t want to ruin your win or anything but that stuff you said in that interview kind of sucked to hear right after I lost_  
>  ◁ _From someone who’s supposed to be my best friend._

Wonwoo shakes his head, tries to get himself back in the zone.

> **soonyoung** ▶︎ _???_  
>  **soonyoung** ▶︎ _you know i didn’t mean it, i only say that stuff to keep people talking about us_
> 
> ◁ _Right_  
> 

He can’t. He stays in the front half of the pack, but brakes too soon in every curve, doesn’t accelerate in time to pick his speed back up by the time he’s out of them.

> **soonyoung** ▶︎ _are you okay?_
> 
> ◁ _No not really? Since I just lost and had to listen to you shit talking me and our company?_  
>  ◁ _*My company_

By the final lap, he’s fallen to last place.

> **soonyoung** ▶︎ _i didn’t mean to hurt you, all that stuff is fake_  
>  **soonyoung** ▶︎ _and we are best friends don’t say "supposed to be" :(_
> 
> ◁ _Yeah, okay._  
>  ◁ _Talk to you later I guess._
> 
> **soonyoung** ▶︎ _no wait i know you’re mad_

But he hadn’t been _mad,_ not really. Wonwoo huffs, eyeing the car just ahead of him, and hits the switch for his thrusters, hoping no one even notices, and that everyone just thinks it’s actual good driving that puts him ahead of—whoever that is, Wonwoo can’t even tell, and doesn’t care.

> **soonyoung** ▶︎ _wonwoo come on_  
>  **soonyoung** ▶︎ _please don’t be like this_  
>  **soonyoung** ▶︎ _please answer me!_  
>  **soonyoung** ▶︎ _i'm sorry you lost_

It’s not good driving that does it, and that’s not how he wanted his first time using the thrusters to go, but he does pull ahead, and stays there, and crosses the finish line shaking and drenched in sweat.

He skids to a stop. He clambers out of his car and wrenches off his helmet and lets out a breath of relief. After all this, he _can’t_ lose because of Soonyoung.

The crowd is still on its feet and roaring, and Wonwoo turns to see who it was he beat—

“Oh, fuck me.” It’s bad when it’s a teammate, and worse when it’s a friend, but Wonwoo really would almost rather have gone out himself than knock out Saerom, of all people. She walks up to him, already shaking her head and smiling when she sees his face. “Shit, I—”

“Hush, idiot, it’s a competition.” 

She hugs him, and he feels worse. “I’m sorry,” he says into her hair.

“No. You just have to be sure to win, now.”

They turn and walk toward the podium—Wonwoo doesn’t even know who’s up there, he’s been so out of it—and Wonwoo abandons his plan of putting this race down as the second worst of all time, because apparently Chan has managed to place third. He spots Wonwoo in the crowd and gives a small wave, beaming, and definitely in shock. Wonwoo smiles—at least there’s that. He can’t wait to check Prisma’s feed and see every sports consultant on the planet eating their words about #17, Lee Chan, indie racer without a chance, going out early.

It makes him forget about his Soonyoung problem, for a bit—almost. He texts Hyesung that he doesn’t want interviews, knowing it’ll look terrible but not caring, and sees him walk out and announce it to the press who are waiting before disappearing again. Wonwoo makes his way to the change rooms, trying his best to ignore the looks the other drivers keep shooting him as they pass. He takes a long shower, standing directly under the water and hoping if he stands there long enough all the others will have already left, and the shower will wash his stupid feelings down the drain.

But that isn’t how it works, so his feelings remain—and fate still has it out for him, so while everyone else is gone, he steps out of the showers in his towel and is met immediately with the sight of Kwon Soonyoung, stripping out of his jumpsuit.

Scratch that—fate wants Wonwoo dead. Soonyoung’s wearing a fucking mesh shirt underneath his jumpsuit. Who does that?

He’s still got his back turned to Wonwoo, but he freezes for a second. “I know you’re there, I heard you walking. And your bag is out here.” He looks over his shoulder and gives Wonwoo a smirk, with one eyebrow raised. “I thought you were supposed to be giving me a run for my money, Jeon?”

Wonwoo’s staring determinedly at his face. He is not emotionally equipped to deal with anything below Soonyoung’s neck right now. Shrugging, Wonwoo walks over to his bag and hurriedly gets his clothes on, face burning.

“Hey,” he hears, and turns as he’s pulling his shirt down. Soonyoung’s not turned toward him, but he _has_ got out of his jumpsuit and has his own shirt halfway off. Wonwoo wants to die. “The other night...you were drunk, so you might not even remember. But what did you mean by that stuff you said?” Thankfully, he still has his shorts on when he finally looks at Wonwoo. “About not knowing what was real?”

This is the closest they’ve come to ever discussing anything like this. “Which part,” Wonwoo murmurs, acutely aware of Soonyoung’s bare shoulders and chest and probable v-line—he’s not brave enough to look that far down.

Soonyoung bites his lip. “I…” He looks down at the ground, and then back up. “Never mind. I just...um…” He turns back, and grabs a shirt from his bag, and pulls it over his head. “I didn’t mean it when I said you never knew me at all. You...knew me better than anyone. Once.”

That’s when he looks back at Wonwoo—it always shocks him how _small_ Soonyoung looks in actual casual clothes, without all the makeup or the racing gear. He holds Wonwoo’s gaze steadily, though, waiting for a response.

As if Wonwoo isn’t still waiting on a response from five years ago.

“...Okay,” Wonwoo says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Soonyoung blinks, then rolls his eyes—but he’s smiling, kind of. _“Okay,”_ he repeats, exaggerated and mocking. Wonwoo turns away, and starts shoving his things into his bag. “Anyway, Jeon, don’t get eliminated. It’s boring when I don’t have a rival to beat.” 

_Or a story to sell,_ Wonwoo would say, if he was braver, and actually as angry as he’s let on. After a moment he turns, mouth opening to say—he doesn’t even know what—

But Soonyoung’s out the door, and it slides shut behind him with a click.

◁ _I'm sad_

**juho** ▶︎ _Yeah, that was a rough one._

◁ _Not about the race._

**juho** ▶︎ _Ah._

Wonwoo bites his lip, and watches Juho’s three little dots appear and disappear a few times.

**juho** ▶︎ _You know you can tell me._  
**juho** ▶︎ _What do we always say_

Wonwoo smiles. If we can say it to the mirror, we can say it to each other.

The problem is Wonwoo can’t say it to the mirror yet, either. He didn’t say it to Chan, even, when they talked about it—he just kind of threw out a bunch of vagueness that Chan was able to piece together. And he knows Chan probably already knew, and Juho has definitely been poking at this particular bear for a very long time...but if he says it out loud it’s real. And the last time he’d (kind of) said it out loud didn’t turn out well.

So it’s still inside him, folded up as small as possible and stashed somewhere hidden and dark. It’s safe there. He’s safe with it there, where no one can see it, where hopefully he can forget about it if he tries hard enough.

  


— — —

  


He tries very hard.

He doesn’t forget.

  


— — —

  


Triple X throws an event the night before the sixth race of the series. Wonwoo very nearly doesn’t go; he’s been staying in over the past week, telling Hyesung he needs a break from schedules, personal reasons. But he goes, because even one week out of the spotlight raises eyebrows when you’re being watched by the entire world. He ends up drinking alone—water, to avoid any possible acts of chivalry from Soonyoung, but these parties are _terrible_ sober. So, he finds an elevator and slips in as sneakily as possible, and rides it up as far as it goes.

The building is tall. He doesn’t remember how many stories, once he steps off the elevator, but it must be a hundred-fifty at least. It takes him a minute of poking around the top floor to find the door to the rooftop, but he does. The cool air on his face gives him chills for just a moment when he steps through. He takes a deep breath, and walks over to the railing.

His week off had cleared his head, a little. It hadn’t made things any less confusing, but he’d been able to separate them, organize his thoughts a bit instead of bouncing wildly from crisis to crisis. And he’s spent most of it wondering, as objectively as possible, if he and Soonyoung could ever be _anything_ to each other again, beyond co-workers and competitors.

Because, ultimately, what he’s realized is that he misses his best friend, feelings or no.

He’s not hopeful. It’s been so long, and they never seem to want the same things at the same time. That had been their problem from the start, he thinks.

There’s a noise from behind him: a door opening and closing. He closes his eyes and breathes out, because he can _feel_ the shift in the air and he just—he knows if he turns around, Soonyoung’s going to be there, and he doesn’t know if he can take it.

Wonwoo doesn’t turn around, but there are footsteps coming toward him, stopping a little ways down from him, leaning on the railing. He knows it’s Soonyoung, because anyone else would have spoken by now. What would Soonyoung even say? Hey, Wonwoo, remember the last time we were on a roof together, ha ha ha?

“Do you remember that cruise we all went on, that first year at Shin? Out to the island?”

Not what Wonwoo expected. He furrows his brow. “I do, yeah.”

“What was that stupid t-shirt you bought me?”

Wonwoo smiles at the memory. “‘Dancing machine.’ With a droid in a grass skirt.”

He hears Soonyoung laugh, and finally looks over at him. He’s shaking his head, looking down at his shoes, but he very nearly looks happy. “So stupid,” he murmurs, still grinning softly. Wonwoo grins too—Soonyoung had choked on his drink when Wonwoo held the shirt up in front of him, and spat it all over the table. They’d collapsed against each other laughing, after.

It hadn’t even been six months since he joined the company, then. They’d barely known each other, comparitively. But they’d hit it off so fast, clicked instantly—it was like they’d already been friends for years.

Now they actually do have years of friendship behind them, and it feels like nothing.

They stand in silence for another minute or two, and eventually, Wonwoo speaks. “Remember you fell off the boat—”

“Oh my god, _no,”_ Soonyoung whines immediately. Wonwoo starts giggling in spite of himself. “I hate this, _please—”_ He cuts himself off laughing when he sees how far gone Wonwoo is.

“You were sitting on the side of the boat and—” Soonyoung’s shaking his head, and covering his face, and they’re both cackling by now. “And I looked away for one _second_ and when I turned around you just _flipped backwards,”_ Wonwoo forces out.

“Not fair, not _fair,_ I had like seven mimosas, you weren’t supposed to let me get boat-drunk—”

Wonwoo’s whole face scrunches up at that and he wheezes. “ _You_ kept downing them when I wasn’t looking!” He shoves at Soonyoung’s shoulder, and Soonyoung stumbles to the side a little. “Oh my god, your little arms waving out of the ocean—”

_“I was drowning—”_

“You had a lifejacket!”

The laughter dies down after another minute, and then it’s quiet between them again. Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung, who’s looking out over the city, smile lingering on his lips. “Can I ask you something,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung’s eyes flick toward him. “Why...when the whole thing with us took off, why did you, like...it really seemed like you...enjoyed it?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, and raises his eyebrows for a second. “I did.” Wonwoo’s nostrils flare, but he tries not to get angry without hearing the rest. “I could see how well it was playing with the fans. It was exciting. I thought you knew it was all just an act.”

Wonwoo nods. “I did. At first. It...got old fast.”

“Right.”

“And you just kept going.”

“Yeah.”

“And it got _really_ old.”

For a second, Wonwoo thinks Soonyoung’s going to blow up on him—he huffs, and kind of rolls his eyes—but for once, it’s more sad than angry. “And I didn’t understand why you hated it so much, because I thought there’s no way you could think I really felt that way. I thought my best friend would know better than that.”

“But we weren’t talking. At all. Except for…” Wonwoo trails off. “That. So I started believing it.”

“And when I realized you believed it…”

“...It got worse.”

Soonyoung smiles, sadly. “It got real.” He pauses, scratches under his nose. “I don’t want to talk about this.” Looking at the ground, he puts his hands in his pockets. “We both handled things badly.”

No fucking shit.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, and he looks up. His voice drops nearly to a whisper. “Why— _why_ are you suddenly worried about me not hating you?”

Shakily, Soonyoung lets out a breath. “I never _wanted_ you to hate me.” But it isn’t an answer, and he knows it. “I don’t know. Our previous arrangement is just...no longer working for me.”

“I don’t understand,” Wonwoo whispers. “I don’t know what you want.” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I don’t know what you want.”

It’s almost funny—hysterical, really. Five years and they’ve just ended up on another rooftop, waiting for the other to speak up.

  


**minho** ▶︎ _are you at the track already_

◁ _Yup_

**minho** ▶︎ _ok good_  
**minho** ▶︎ _i know you hate surprises so i’m letting you know this now. we’re all here_

◁ _OH._

**minho** ▶︎ _don’t be mad and if you are, be mad at seulgi_  
**minho** ▶︎ _not your baby brother who did nothing wrong!_

◁ _No no I'm not mad  
_ ◁ _Just hope I don't lose tonight......._

**minho** ▶︎ _oh that would suck so bad huh_

◁ _YEAH I KNOW_

**minho** ▶︎ _relax you’re not gonna lose_

Wonwoo looks up from his phone. “My family’s here,” he says to no one in particular.

It’s Mingyu who hears and responds. “That’s rad!”

Trying not to look as nervous as he feels, Wonwoo shoots him a tight lipped smile. This is a lot. As if there’s not enough pressure on him this race to redeem himself from the last one, now he has a _family_ to make proud.

When he’s been announced, he beelines to his car and gets his helmet on as soon as he can to get the noise of the crowd out of his head. He thinks about his siblings, somewhere in that crowd, waiting to watch their brother be great. He thinks about how he’d felt the first time he’d watched a race on tv, and how badly he’d wanted to exist in that world. And he thinks about Soonyoung. He hears Soonyoung’s voice in his ear, first the snide remarks, and sarcastic soundbites of recent years, then their strained attempts at civility this year, then filtering back through their whole history, before Soonyoung changed companies, before either of them had a trophy to their name, before any of this started. Wonwoo grips the steering wheel. The lights turn green. 

He guns it. He can still hear Soonyoung, whispering to him about how great he’s going to be, how when they both start winning they’re going to have absolutely everything and life is going to be perfect.

> _I can’t wait to see you win. I can’t wait for us to mow down everyone in our way—you and me, Wonwoo._

Soonyoung’s fingers interlock with Wonwoo’s in the memory, and present day Wonwoo presses his foot down even harder, even when there’s nowhere else for the pedal to go. He can’t keep track of who he’s passing, who’s behind or in front of him, how many laps it’s been—he’s only driving, at this point, and waiting to see black and white checkers. He feels the breeze on that rooftop, sees the look on Soonyoung’s face, feels him let go of his hand, and his eyes narrow.

Jihoon’s saying something over his coms, but Wonwoo is far past hearing him. His helmet is too stifling, too hot, his jumpsuit is too _hot_ suddenly and he just wants out of this car, he needs to finish this race and get out of this car so he can breathe. A flash of iridescence out his window—Soonyoung is in front of him, until he’s not. Wonwoo barely notices. 

There’s silence in his ears, suddenly—no Jihoon, no crowd, no memories. He can hear the hum of his engine, feel the vibrations under his fingers.

Then it all comes back, deafening and all consuming. When he’s crossed the finish he slows down, as if he’s on autopilot. He takes off his helmet and the crowd roaring and the lights flashing and the booming voice of the announcer all blur together into a grab bag of sensory overload. He’s dazed, blinking at nothing, until Hansol and Jihoon are reaching through his window to help him out. The sounds are starting to clarify, now, everything getting a little sharper. He turns, and just a bit behind him, he sees Soonyoung rip his helmet off his head and throw it to the ground, where it bounces along the track, and that’s when he realizes the crowd is chanting his name. Automatically, he turns to Jihoon and Hansol, eyebrows raised.

“I fucking know, right,” Jihoon says, and Hansol beams at him, and slowly, Wonwoo smiles too, wider and wider. He turns back toward the crowd and then the announcer is at his side, taking his hand and raising his arm up.

He can’t even think the words—it’s too unreal. It’s still unreal when he’s led up to the podium, when a trophy gets pushed into his hands. He can’t remember what he says in the thousand interviews he does. He thinks it had been Gyuri in third, and Soonyoung—Soonyoung in _second—_

He hugs his family, and he thinks most of them cry, except Jinsook, who just laughs, and kisses him on the cheek—then he sends them on their way, tells him he’ll see them tomorrow, thank you for coming, go get some rest, it’s past Jinsook’s bedtime.

By the time he makes it to the changing room and gets himself showered, the adrenaline is starting to wear off. Nearly everyone else has gone, and he’s alone for the first time since—

Since he won? He lets out a laugh, still in shock. He tests out the words under his breath, mouthing _I won_ to himself and laughing again at how ridiculous it seems. Shaking his head, he grabs his bag from his locker and starts to change.

“That was some impressive driving, Jeon.”

It’s Soonyoung. _Oh yeah, that guy exists,_ Wonwoo thinks. When he looks up, he finds Soonyoung leaning against the lockers next to him, and he can’t help but beam, not even caring how they’d left things—however that was. “How’s it feel to lose?”

“I’ve lost before.”

“How’s it feel to lose to _me.”_

Soonyoung looks at him with a hint of a grin. “...I didn’t expect you to actually pull it off.”

Wonwoo laughs. “That’s because you think you’re the second coming of christ on four wheels and that no one can touch you,” he says, pulling on his pants and then a shirt. “How the mighty fall.”

“Second place isn’t that much of a fall.”

“It is when it’s me in first.” He looks Soonyoung up and down—he hasn’t showered, he’s still got makeup on, though it’s slightly smudged by now. There’s a defiance in the grin he has on, and a hardness in the set of his jaw. “You’re mad. I can tell.”

Because he knows him. His tells haven’t changed.

With a hint of a smile, Soonyoung gazes up at him. “...I don’t like losing,” he says. He doesn’t _sound_ angry.

Wonwoo slings his bag over his shoulder. “Better try to get used to it.” He leans in close to Soonyoung. “If you think I’m going back down the ranks without a fight, you’re even more out of touch than I thought.”

He means it to be intimidating. He’s not sure _what_ result he gets instead. Soonyoung’s staring up at him with this terribly strange look on his face—scared? That’s the closest thing Wonwoo can surmise, but it doesn’t seem right.

Then Soonyoung’s eyes flick down to Wonwoo’s mouth.

Wonwoo’s smirk fades, and his brow furrows. Neither of them move. Soonyoung’s eyes linger on Wonwoo’s mouth before his gaze lifts again. Wonwoo’s brows twitch again, and he moves back, just the tiniest bit.

As soon as that distance is created, Soonyoung shakes his head, and closes it, and kisses him.

There isn’t time to react before it happens, so Wonwoo’s mind races to catch up even as his lips respond automatically. He’d thought wrapping his mind around winning a race was surreal, but this—he’s—he’s kissing Soonyoung? Kwon Soonyoung just kissed him, and he’s kissing back. Wonwoo knows all those words separately, but together they don’t seem to mean anything, except they must, because Soonyoung’s lips are there and moving against his own and—yeah, okay, there’s his tongue. Wonwoo starts to pull him closer, deciding if this isn’t real he should at least enjoy it—until he hears voices outside the door and they push away from each other, both breathing heavier, both red all the way to the tips of their ears.

Wonwoo shoots a quick glance toward the door, which has remained still and shut. “What the fuck was that,” he exhales, looking back to Soonyoung—who is looking up at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Wonwoo is staring at Soonyoung’s lips, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care, and he’s still staring when Soonyoung covers his mouth with one hand and shakes his head minutely. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, finally, muffled from behind his fingers.

They’re still watching each other in silence when Seungkwan bounces in, throwing a congrats to them both. They ignore him, except Soonyoung taking a step back to make things less conspicuous. Wonwoo clears his throat. His adrenaline has ramped up again, higher than ever. Briefly, he’s unsure of what course of action he wants to take, but—fuck, he’s high off having just won his first race in years and the fact that Soonyoung just _fucking kissed him_ certainly isn’t doing anything to bring him down.

So when Seungkwan disappears to the showers, and the water turns on, and Seungkwan starts singing softly to himself, Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung toward him and kisses him again. Soonyoung’s arms end up thrown around Wonwoo’s neck this time, pulling them as close together as they can get.

It isn’t close enough.

Wonwoo pulls back, enough to lean his forehead on Soonyoung’s, and Soonyoung exhales unsteadily. There’s a million things Wonwoo wants to say, but even he himself doesn’t expect what makes it out: “Come back with me,” he whispers.

Soonyoung blinks slowly. “Back…” His eyebrows raise. “What?” He nearly laughs as he says it. “There’s still cameras...Yujin’ll kill me if I’m seen leaving with you.”

“Who?”

“My manager,” Soonyoung murmurs. He’s staring at Wonwoo’s lips again.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Meet me, then,” he says, breathless. “Here—” He fishes in his jacket pocket for his room key. “I’m in 1228.”

Only Soonyoung just stares down at it, so Wonwoo takes one of his hands and presses the little card into it. “I...okay?” Soonyoung breathes, and laughs a little. “Are you for real?”

Amazingly, yes. “Yes.”

Soonyoung’s smile falters. “Are you sure,” he whispers.

Absolutely fucking not. “Yes.” Wonwoo hopes it sounds sure—or at least, less terrified than he feels—less terrified than Soonyoung looks. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  


Soonyoung’s waiting for him when he steps into his room—staring out the window, moonlight in his hair and on his cheeks. He turns at the sound of Wonwoo coming in. Neither say anything, but Wonwoo sits his bag down and makes his way toward him. As he crosses the room, Wonwoo considers the history here, and the altogether confusing nature of whatever their relationship has become, and whether he cares about any of that at this point. 

It probably makes him the dumbest person in the galaxies, but he doesn’t think he does, and judging by the way Soonyoung licks his lips as he approaches, it’s possible he doesn’t either. His expression is nervous and small, but his eyes are still bright and burning.

“What is this, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo asks when he’s in front of him, close enough to touch. He searches Soonyoung’s face for any clue, but he only shrugs.

“You’re the one who told me to come.”

An infuriating answer at literally any other time, but not now, while Wonwoo’s operating on pure id and nearly a decade of want. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

Soonyoung smiles, still nervous. “But you’re the one who told me to come.” They fall silent, neither sure where to go from here—or, knowing where to go, but not knowing how to start. “What did you mean,” Soonyoung asks, as Wonwoo takes off his jacket and throws it behind him. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t know which parts of us were all in your head?” Wonwoo is barely listening, eyes roaming over Soonyoung’s face and then down his body. “I understood the rest, but—specifically, which parts do you think—Wonwoo,” he says, and Wonwoo’s eyes snap back up to Soonyoung’s face, his heart squeezing at the sound of his name. He wants to beg Soonyoung to say it again, to never stop saying it—but it turns out he doesn’t have to. “Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whispers.

The sound of his name like _that_ is almost too much. Wonwoo lifts one hand and runs it through Soonyoung’s hair, then brushes his fingers along his cheek, his jaw. 

This time when they kiss it’s much slower, much more deliberate, and they’re both a little more prepared—but not much. Now that Wonwoo’s a little less keyed up, however, he can actually focus: he’s _kissing Soonyoung._ He is Kissing Soonyoung. Soonyoung opens his mouth when Wonwoo nibbles and licks at his bottom lip, and lets out a soft little sound. At that, Wonwoo pulls away to look at him. 

He is so beautiful. More beautiful than ever. Wonwoo looks him over, runs his hands down his shoulders and over his chest, then up and down his sides beneath his shirt. (The skin there is every bit as soft as the rest of him, and Wonwoo is transfixed.)

Suddenly, Soonyoung speaks again. “Did you mean you’ve thought about this?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. His hands make their way under Soonyoung’s shirt and explore his waist, his abs—his chest. Soonyoung hisses when Wonwoo thumbs over his nipples, and his eyes meet Wonwoo’s, plaintive and clear. “I’ve thought about it.”

That gets Wonwoo to freeze. “You have,” he asks. 

Painfully slow, Soonyoung nods. Fuck. “Us...together…” he breathes, biting his lip and arching up a little against Wonwoo’s fingertips even though they’ve stilled. “Like this. I’ve thought about it.”

Looking him over carefully, Wonwoo’s fingers travel down again, slow enough to have Soonyoung’s breath hitching. “Yeah,” Wonwoo confesses quietly as he watches Soonyoung’s reactions. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

With that, he drags the flat palm of one hand lower—lower—and presses it between Soonyoung’s legs. He sees Soonyoung’s mouth fall open just before he kisses him, shifting quickly from his lips to his jaw and down his neck. Soonyoung starts panting. “What have you thought about,” Wonwoo murmurs against his throat. 

“Everything,” Soonyoung says, the pitch of his voice climbing. One hand moves to Wonwoo’s hair and he almost pets it, running his fingers through it so gently, lightly scratching against Wonwoo’s scalp. His head tilts back as far as he can to give Wonwoo access to as much skin as possible, which Wonwoo takes advantage of, but it _is_ becoming ever so slightly distracting the way Soonyoung’s making these tiny, breathy little noises, and moving his hips just barely as Wonwoo palms at his hardening cock through his pants. “You?”

By this point, Wonwoo’s completely lost track of anything that isn’t watching Soonyoung in absolute awe, so it takes him a moment. “Mm?”

“What have you—ah, thought about?”

Wonwoo’s hand stops moving, and Soonyoung’s eyes open to look at him in confusion. Wonwoo shakes his head. “Everything,” he whispers. He desperately searches Soonyoung’s face for—anything, in the wake of what he’d said, because it borders on too much, too real, because it’s the truth. He’s thought about having Soonyoung this close to him, about the heat of his body and his mouth, about feeling every part of Soonyoung against every part of himself, and he’s tried to push it away but it’s been there for so long, lurking just behind the walls Wonwoo had tried to trap it behind and now it’s all flooding back. 

But Soonyoung doesn’t seem to notice any of that; just pulls Wonwoo down to kiss him. It starts soft but quickly escalates, as they’re both hopelessly turned on by now—Wonwoo’s hands are at Soonyoung’s waist, bunching up his shirt so he can run his hands over bare skin, which ignites some primal instinct in him and he lifts the shirt over Soonyoung’s head. Once it’s off, Soonyoung frantically does the same to Wonwoo’s shirt, and stares openly at his chest and torso, biting his lip. 

Then his eyes flick up to Wonwoo’s, and he seems to come to some sort of decision. “Bed,” he says, and it’s no sooner out than Wonwoo hoists him up and carries him there, laying him down and pressing against him. He’s trying not to think about the fact that Soonyoung has his fucking legs wrapped around his waist so he doesn’t lose his mind, but he’s grinding against him mindlessly now, and Soonyoung groans, and tightens his legs around him, and Wonwoo sees stars. 

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes, and extricates himself from Soonyoung’s thighs (regretfully) so he can get his pants off and throw them somewhere across the room, and once Soonyoung’s done the same—well, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, seeing as how they did used to live together, but Wonwoo stares anyway, because he hasn’t seen it like _this._ His head drops to Soonyoung’s stomach, and he kisses his way down to Soonyoung’s inner thighs, pushing his legs apart. Soonyoung whimpers in anticipation. Wonwoo smirks, and just makes his way back up Soonyoung’s body with his mouth until they’re kissing again and desperately moving against each other. 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung sighs, almost pleading as Wonwoo kisses along his jaw, and Wonwoo slows. 

It hits him that this is real, this is happening, this is about to happen, and he has to choke back a sob. 

“I want you,” he murmurs into Soonyoung’s neck, hiding his face there until he can bear to look.

There’s a pause as Soonyoung stills, and the only sound is their breathing, and Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut, afraid that that had been the line, and now Soonyoung will suddenly realize how ridiculous this is and disappear.

But it doesn’t happen. What does happen is Soonyoung has a hand threading comfortingly through Wonwoo’s hair again, so Wonwoo looks up. Soonyoung’s hands come to rest softly on either side of Wonwoo’s face, and he lets out a quiet little huff, edging on impatient. “Then hurry up and have me,” he answers finally. 

Wonwoo kisses him again, just once, and keeps his face close when he pulls back. He tries to steady himself in concrete facts and sensation—the feeling of Soonyoung’s breath puffing out against his lips, of Soonyoung’s hands on his face, of the absence of Soonyoung’s hands on his face when they slide down to his shoulders. It works alright, until Soonyoung leans up a bit, murmuring _want your fingers_ against Wonwoo’s earlobe before pressing a kiss to it, and Wonwoo’s arms nearly give out as a tidal wave of arousal surges through him. 

He obliges, because fingering Soonyoung is a fucking dream come true, but it’s not long until his hands are shaking from how fucking turned on he is after just a minute or two of listening to Soonyoung moan and watching his fingers move in and out of him. “Soonyoung,” he says, voice low, hoping Soonyoung will get that he can’t do this much longer.

And Soonyoung, well, he knows Wonwoo, so that’s all he needs to say.

After so many years of what’s gone on between them, Wonwoo figured if he got this far he’d want to ravage Soonyoung until he couldn’t walk straight—and while that’s certainly still appealing, now that he has Soonyoung here, looking up at him—he can’t. He can’t even bring himself to _move,_ because Soonyoung had gasped and shuddered when he pressed into him and it’s all just a _lot_ and Wonwoo can’t quite get his head around any of it.

Soonyoung’s staring at him, which is also a lot (probably the _most)_ and Wonwoo is still lost and hesitating and Soonyoung must be able to see it, because he puts a hand on Wonwoo’s cheek—“Hi,” he murmurs, voice tiny.

Wonwoo swallows, hard. “Are you okay,” he says, because it’s the first thing he thinks of, so it’s the first thing that comes out.

“...Are you?” Soonyoung asks, grinning. It makes Wonwoo smile, and then Soonyoung smiles wider, and Wonwoo kisses him again, and he doesn’t stop. He _can’t._ When he starts to move Soonyoung _whimpers._ It doesn’t feel real, everything hazy around the edges, blurred and shimmering—but Wonwoo has his hands and his mouth on every bit of Soonyoung he can reach, and every touch no matter how light makes Soonyoung gasp, his breath hitching every time Wonwoo’s fingers or lips explore somewhere new. His mouth moves like he wants to speak but he can’t get anything out, too helpless from the feeling of Wonwoo moving inside him. Wonwoo barely registers it, as he’s been concentrating very hard on 1. _not_ immediately losing it and coming within three seconds of getting inside Soonyoung, and 2. leaving marks on Soonyoung’s neck and shoulders so he knows he was there, and this was real. “I—Wonwoo, I—” Soonyoung’s trying to say, but Wonwoo’s hand wraps around his cock and whatever it was going to be dissolves in his throat into a string of nonsense. Wonwoo buries his face in Soonyoung’s neck, panting, and wonders what the _fuck_ he’s gotten himself into, even if it’s drowned out by the _much_ louder chorus echoing around his head: finally, finally, _finally._

  


Wonwoo wakes up, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t open his eyes because he isn’t sure what would scare him less: Soonyoung being gone, or Soonyoung still being there. He’s still trying to suss it out when there’s a shift next to him, a body moving closer until it’s pressed up against his own. That answers that, but it is largely unhelpful, considering...everything.

Subconsciously, or because he can’t help it, or he thinks he can still get away with it, Wonwoo shifts in his direction, allows himself to melt against him for just a second—and then there’s an arm around him.

Soonyoung had smiled, last night, after. He’d panted and blinked up at the ceiling and pushed his hair back. “Okay,” he’d said, laughing a little. “Well…”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo had watched him turn at the sound of his voice, and seen this _softness_ in his expression that he didn’t know what to make of. “Yeah,” he’d whispered back.

Now, Wonwoo’s panicking, as silently as he can. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but he feels Soonyoung’s fingers flex slightly against his skin—Wonwoo wonders if he’s awake, really, or doing this in his sleep. Then his arm stretches further, fingers brushing along Wonwoo’s arm until they reach his hand and interlock with his own. His heart is hammering. There are lips on his shoulder. Fuck. “Wonwoo.” Fuck. “Are you awake?” _Fuck._

“Mhm,” Wonwoo says, finding it entirely unfair that he has Soonyoung’s fucking morning voice in his ear.

Soonyoung sighs contentedly when Wonwoo answers. “I never would have pegged you for such a good little spoon. You’re so bony. You should not be this _comfy.”_

Thank god Soonyoung can’t see Wonwoo’s face, because it _must_ be doing something ridiculous. He rubs a hand over his eyes and blinks them open slowly before gingerly turning over to face Soonyoung. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

Soonyoung laughs groggily. “You can say that again.” He smiles at Wonwoo. “Morning,” he murmurs.

“...Morning,” Wonwoo replies, hesitant. Soonyoung just keeps smiling, though, and bites his lip. He sits up after a moment, ruffling his hair. Wonwoo glances at the spot he’d been occupying just a moment ago. He blinks.

“There’s glitter in my bed.”

Another laugh. “Side effect of letting me anywhere near it,” Soonyoung says over his shoulder. “I leave a trail everywhere I go.” He stretches his arms up, then rolls his shoulders and his neck, and Wonwoo watches him move, transfixed. Suddenly restless, Wonwoo sits up and moves forward until he can ghost his fingers hesitantly over Soonyoung’s shoulders and then down his back, watching goosebumps appear as he does. Soonyoung lets out a shaky breath before twisting around to look at him. For the thousandth time since last night, Wonwoo’s staring at his lips. He doesn’t dare to move, terrified that the whole touching thing from a second ago might have been too far.

But Soonyoung leans in and brings their mouths together, softly. Wonwoo breathes for the first time since waking up.

Oh god. What is he thinking.

When they pull apart, Soonyoung’s smiling hazily at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo can’t stop himself from mirroring him despite how fucked he’s pretty sure he is. “Hi, Jeon.”

“Hi.”

Soonyoung’s smile spreads across his face, and he starts laughing. “Shit, Wonwoo, what did we _do,”_ he whispers.

So at least it’s not just Wonwoo who’s confused. He gulps down his paralyzing terror. “I don’t know,” he says. Soonyoung shakes his head, still smiling. “Um...mistake or no?”

The smile on Soonyoung’s face softens, and he pokes Wonwoo in the arm. “I don’t _think_ it was,” he says quietly, casting his eyes downward. “And I know it’s...god, you’re gonna think I’m insane.” Oh, Wonwoo’s way past that. “I know it’s ridiculous but I...I feel _better,”_ he says, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes again. “Do you feel better? I feel _better.”_

Bit of a loaded question. He considers. “I feel...something.” Soonyoung is here, near him, they aren’t fighting, and Soonyoung is smiling and—well, naked, so that’s something. It kind of feels like nothing else exists, and even though Wonwoo knows that can’t last, he huffs out a quiet laugh. “Better, I think. Yeah.”

Fondly, Soonyoung reaches up and tucks Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear. “Your hair is different.”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose. “I started wearing it curly ages ago.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never told you I like it.” A pause. “I like it.”

It feels like the past five years never happened, or that they weren’t what they were—that they never drifted or fell out at all. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, Wonwoo isn’t sure. But he takes a breath. “Thanks,” he says. “I like the silver. I liked the red too, last year. But I like this more.

“Thanks,” Soonyoung whispers.

A phone rings. “Answer,” Soonyoung says, still looking heavily at Wonwoo.

_Where the fuck are you?!_ the voice on the other end of the phone shouts, and Soonyoung’s face falls, scrambling to grab it.

“Sorry, sorry, Yujin, I didn’t realize what time it was—” he’s rambling, looking frantically around the room— _Pants?_ he mouths to Wonwoo. “No, I know, I’m on my way. I’ll _be there,_ calm down. Okay. _Okay._ Bye.”

Wonwoo holds out Soonyoung’s clothes, and Soonyoung takes them with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.” Wonwoo shakes his head. He understands. “I have to...uh, go. My flight is soon and I have a shoot later.” He pulls on his clothes hurriedly. “But...this was…” He presses his lips together and tilts his head, clearly unsure.

Which Wonwoo can’t really hold against him, yet. “Yeah. I’ll—see you later.” He wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t dare. Soonyoung gathers his things and bounces out the door, but he turns in the threshold.

“Wonwoo. I don’t think I ever said.” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “Congratulations.”

The door slides shut behind him, and then Wonwoo is alone, dazed, wondering if any of it was real, wondering where it leaves him if it was—he turns, stares around the room—blinks very quickly—and promptly starts to hyperventilate.

He’d been right about one thing, he guesses. Winning against Soonyoung had definitely, definitely tipped the scales.

  


— — —

  


> _You’re my best friend, you know. The best friend I’ve ever had._
> 
> _You’re mine too, but you...you have to know...don’t you know how much more you are than that, Soonyoung?_

It had been right there. But Soonyoung had let go of Wonwoo’s hand.

  


— — —

  


The sports feeds have blown up. Wonwoo’s never seen his name so many times, on so many headlines, from so many different outlets, he’s never had this many people talking about him, tagging him on socials, cheering for him, loving him. After he flies home Hyesung presents him with an array of appearance and interview offers, but Wonwoo asks if he can do just one, the biggest one, right before the next race. He may not be as good at this as Soonyoung always was, but he does know turning people down makes them want you more.

Firsthand.

So he stays low profile, and watches how the world has lit up in support of him. He doesn’t hear from Soonyoung, but he knows Soonyoung is busy all the time, and he didn’t...expect anything, he guesses, anyway. He isn’t sure what to think, but what else is new? He’s no more confused than he was before, and if he’s honest, he thinks Soonyoung was right: he does feel better, somehow. Delving into the reasons for that isn’t at the top of his to-do list, though, so for now he’s just enjoying it.

All the Shin drivers (plus Jihoon and Hansol, and Chan and his mechanic Seungcheol,) get together one night to watch this ridiculous special detailing Soonyoung and Wonwoo’s tumultuous past. A lot of it is speculation, and mostly he just laughs at how over the top and dramatic it is—because apparently, he can laugh at it now. Jihoon keeps glancing at him, clearly confused.

“Are you okay?” he asks when they’re both alone in the kitchen. “You seem...happy…?”

Wonwoo laughs. “I _did_ just win. Beat my arch rival? Achieved a lifetime goal?”

Jihoon doesn’t look convinced. “Alright, then.”

The special ends with a voiceover that speculates what will happen “now that we’ve reached the climax of the rivalry,” and Wonwoo nearly bursts capillaries trying not to react in front of his entire company.

  


A couple of days after that, Chan does an indie race—non-Prisma, lower stakes, but important for newer drivers, especially those without the backing of bigger companies. Wonwoo goes to support him, and is surprised when he sees Hyunjoon is also slated to drive. He blinks. If Hyunjoon is here…

He tries not to think about it. If he doesn’t have expectations, it’ll hurt less when they aren’t met. 

But as he’s sitting in the back row of the VIP box waiting for the race to begin, he hears boots clicking on the risers and then Soonyoung plops down next to him. Directly next to him. He thinks Prisma wouldn’t like that, so he assumes Soonyoung’s here without his manager, and not intending to see Hyunjoon’s people. Wonwoo sneaks a glance at him—his lips are red again and there’s shimmer on his cheeks and a row of tiny silver jewels under his eyes. Wonwoo could scream. 

“Hey Jeon,” he says, same as ever. There’s an electric charge crackling underneath his words, though, and Wonwoo wonders if his hair is standing on end. 

“Kwon,” he says, adjusting his shirt and shifting in his seat. “Been busy?” 

Soonyoung smiles. “Very. I expected to see more of you on every screen in my line of sight, though. Mr. _Champion.”_ Wonwoo just grins, and then Soonyoung’s quiet. 

For a the first lap or so, they watch the race in tense, awkward silence. Wonwoo’s desperately trying not to look at Soonyoung, but it’s hard, because he’s there, and he’s gorgeous. 

Eventually Soonyoung lets out a breath, and looks down, fiddling with the hem of his silky shirt. “What about tonight?” Oh, jesus. That can’t be what Wonwoo thinks it is. “Are you busy?” 

He can’t feel his extremities, and his throat has swelled shut, for sure. He shakes his head. “Nothing tonight.” 

Soonyoung looks up again, casual, his eyes following the race. “Same,” he sighs. “I’ll be home.” 

The unsaid things hanging between them could fill terabytes of hard drive space, but neither is brave enough to say any of them, apparently. 

More of the race passes, and they’re still quiet. Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “What’s Hyunjoon need to do indie races for?” 

“He’s still building up a following. Wants all the experience and exposure he can get.” 

“And the almighty Prismatech can’t give him that?” 

Soonyoung turns to look at him, just for a second. “I mean, there’s a difference between Prisma booking him appearances and him doing extra races because he wants to be a better driver.” Fair. Wonwoo raises his eyebrows and nods in concession. “He doesn’t want to...rely on them for his success,” Soonyoung continues, quieter. Here and now, they couldn’t _talk_ even if they wanted to, no matter how much it looks like Soonyoung has a thousand things fighting to get out. Wonwoo wishes he could tell him he’d listen, whenever—but he can’t do that here either, really, so as Soonyoung looks down, lost in thought, chewing on his lip, Wonwoo looks around surreptitiously. The guest box they’re in is enclosed, and they’re in the back row, with no one looking at them, but he can’t be too careful. When he’s satisfied he can get away with it, Wonwoo nudges at Soonyoung’s pinky where it rests on the bench. He keeps his eyes straight ahead and his face blank, and soon enough Wonwoo feels Soonyoung link their pinkies together. 

They sit like that for a bit, as the race continues down on the track. Hyunjoon’s leading—he’s a good driver, precise and laser focused—the perfect Prismatech golden child. Wonwoo figures they’re grooming him as a successor to Soonyoung, but he doesn’t get why, exactly, when Soonyoung’s at the top of his career. 

“Can I see you, then?” Soonyoung says suddenly, barely loud enough for Wonwoo to hear over the cheers of the crowd. 

Wonwoo steals one glance before looking ahead again. “When?” 

“Tonight. I’m going straight home after this, so. Whenever.” 

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s wishing this race away, unsure how he’s going to wait for it to end on its own time. “Good to know,” he says, and peeks at Soonyoung again. Now, he’s looking ahead with the smallest little smile on his face, and Wonwoo has to bite his cheek to keep from beaming. “Your boy’s gonna win,” he says, nodding toward Hyunjoon’s silver car, streaking ahead of the entire pack. 

“Of course he is,” Soonyoung says, smug, but not insincere. “Chan is insanely good. I couldn’t believe he placed third—what was he the week before?” 

“Eleventh.” 

“That’s impressive.” 

“Fuck yeah it is.” 

They grin at each other, and then Soonyoung looks away. “Don’t make me wait too long.” 

Wonwoo stares. He clears his throat. Soonyoung doesn’t look back at him. “No, yeah. I’ll be there.” 

The rest of the race passes without a word, but Wonwoo feels like he’s on fire. He can’t believe he just agreed to that—or, he can, but he really shouldn’t have, considering how uncertain everything is. Is he one of Soonyoung’s countless _flings_ now, he wonders, or is this something else? Moreoever, how the fuck is he supposed to get himself to ask, when it could ruin them again? He has Soonyoung back, and even in the weird, nebulous capacity it’s in—it’s Soonyoung. Does he care how uncertain it is? Can it get worse than the hurt he’s already felt? 

It doesn’t matter. He’s only been staving off the inevitable for the past week—he can’t keep pretending to himself that what happened was chill and fine. How is he supposed to ever focus on anything ever again in his whole entire life when he’s had Soonyoung underneath him and kissing him and touching him and saying his _name?_

It’s not like he’d have been able to just move on, and he’d be kidding himself to try and convince anyone of it. 

Every now and then their knees bump together, or Soonyoung adjusts his grip on Wonwoo’s pinky, and every single touch feels like a supernova. He’s never felt anything like it. But then again, it’s never been Soonyoung, before now. 

The race winds down, the final lap nearing its end, and Hyunjoon is still leading. The whole crowd stands, and Soonyoung does too—but when their hands lose contact, Wonwoo yanks him back down behind the cover of the crowd, and kisses him. 

Soonyoung makes a surprised noise, and then whines, because the uptick in volume of the cheers tells him he’s missed the finish. But Wonwoo can feel him smiling, and pulls him closer. The crowd is still going wild around them, none the wiser, when Wonwoo pulls back, cradling Soonyoung’s face in his hands. “You’ve got lipstick on you,” Soonyoung murmurs beneath the cacaphony, staring at Wonwoo’s mouth, thumbing across his bottom lip. He makes no move to pull any further away—in fact, he leans closer again, and smiles, like he’s daring Wonwoo to make another move. 

He does, because the crowd is still on its feet as the placements get announced and the drivers get awarded. He presses his lips to Soonyoung’s again because he _can,_ and Soonyoung kisses him back. Soonyoung wants to kiss him. This is still not real. 

They pull away, beaming at each other, and Soonyoung pats Wonwoo’s cheek. “Goodness sakes, Jeon. You should really make yourself presentable. What in the galaxy will people think,” he breathes, and he reaches into his pocket before shoving a small compact mirror into Wonwoo’s hand. With that, he stands, and joins in the cheering—Hyunjoon has won. Hurriedly, Wonwoo opens the mirror and wipes at his mouth; he almost hesitates, hating to see the evidence of what just happened disappear, but he wipes it off as best he can and then stands up, slipping the mirror back into Soonyoung’s palm. 

Soonyoung flips it open and checks his own lipstick (which, unfairly, has stayed perfectly in place.) “See you later?” he asks, avoiding looking at Wonwoo again. There’s a hint of pink on his cheeks, visible even under the makeup. When Wonwoo’s silent, he turns toward him, eyebrows raised. Wonwoo nods. 

With that, Soonyoung smiles, and makes his way out of the stands to congratulate Hyunjoon. 

In the time between then and now, Wonwoo has had time to talk himself into all kinds of terrible scenarios—Soonyoung’s probably invited him over to tell him it can’t happen again, or to try to wheedle strategy out of him. But he’s ringing the doorbell of Soonyoung’s penthouse anyway. 

The question gets dashed when Soonyoung responds—”Hi yourself,”—and looks him very obviously up and down. 

Wonwoo follows Soonyoung inside—the apartment is enormous, sleek, the height of technology. He’d only been here once, soon after Soonyoung had bought it, and he’d never really considered _how_ much richer Soonyoung would be now. “Did you find it alright,” Soonyoung calls over his shoulder, not bothering to wait. 

“Um,” Wonwoo says, huffing out a laugh and taking off his shoes, then hurrying to catch up. “I’ve been here before. You pity-invited me to your housewarming and then didn’t talk to me all night, remember?” Soonyoung’s pace falters just for a second. 

“Well. You haven’t been pity-invited this time.” 

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, and when he slows, Wonwoo walks around in front of him, cutting him off. “What are you doing?” 

He squints. “I’m not doing anything.” 

He is, though. It’s too casual, too clinical. “You’re being _weird.”_

A wicked grin spreads across Soonyoung’s face, and he takes Wonwoo’s hands. “Come on,” he says, pulling him toward what Wonwoo can only assume is the bedroom, walking backwards, keeping eye contact. 

“Soonyoung…” Wonwoo says again, to no avail. 

When the door slides open behind Soonyoung, he drags Wonwoo through it, pulls him toward him, and kisses him. Wonwoo makes a noise of surprise. “Um,” he says, as Soonyoung kisses his way down his neck. “Hi—oh, wow,” he says, eyes falling closed—Soonyoung has very unceremoniously stuck his hand down Wonwoo’s pants. Things are moving very fast, and very efficiently, but Soonyoung’s strange behavior has Wonwoo rethinking, overthinking. “Okay, h-hang on, Soonyoung.” 

Soonyoung pouts. “What?” he whines. 

His hand is still on Wonwoo’s dick, and that’s not how Wonwoo really wants to have an actual conversation. “Do you have anything to drink?” he asks, desperate for any excuse to take three seconds and get his bearings. 

It amuses Soonyoung, apparently. He laughs a little, and nods, and unhands Wonwoo’s dick. “Sure, yes. Any requests?” He walks toward a mini-fridge over in the corner of his room—which Wonwoo can now actually take in, now that he’s not. Distracted. 

Wonwoo’s heart skips a beat or two, because the room is just… _so_ Soonyoung. Purple curtains and dark grey walls that shimmer ever so slightly gold—this is the room _his_ Soonyoung would have, if he was rich. Which he is, so he has it. 

It’s just a matter of whether this Soonyoung is...his. 

“Whatever you have,” Wonwoo calls, and as Soonyoung turns away from him, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Why’d you kiss me?” he says, wincing even as he says it. 

Soonyoung freezes to the spot, and then spins around. He squints at Wonwoo, then arches an eyebrow. “Why’d you fuck me?” Wonwoo doesn’t respond, just swallows heavily, trying not to let his breath hitch from the memory. At Wonwoo’s silence, Soonyoung rolls his eyes. When he looks at Wonwoo again his gaze is darker, sweeter, and one hand toys with the hem of his shirt. “I just wanted to.” His hand travels up, one finger tracing each button on his shirt, before reaching the one that’s clasped just at the center of his chest, below his collarbones and the smooth triangle of skin exposed beneath them. “I want to again,” Soonyoung murmurs, eyes burning into Wonwoo’s as he undoes the button, and then the next, and then the next. Wonwoo watches silently, forcing himself to breathe evenly, and when Soonyoung’s shirt is hanging open he sighs, and covers his face in exasperation before pushing his hair out of his face and looking back at Soonyoung’s shit-eating grin with a helpless smile. 

“You’re evil, you know that?” 

It makes Soonyoung cackle, but Wonwoo interrupts him by striding over and kissing him. He’s only human, after all. 

Soonyoung shivers when Wonwoo mouths along his collarbone, pushing his shirt back to reveal one smooth, pale shoulder. Even in the low light of Soonyoung’s bedroom, he can see glitter clinging to his skin and chuckles against it. _I must be fucking insane,_ he thinks, but it isn’t his fault—Soonyoung is _glittery,_ for fuck’s sake, and he’s soft all over. Wonwoo’s hands roam lightly over all of Soonyoung’s exposed skin, and Soonyoung keeps sighing in turns with these soft little hitched breaths. 

“God, Wonwoo,” he whispers, head tilted back as Wonwoo licks at the skin of his neck. “I haven’t fucking stopped thinking about you.” 

Wonwoo has to pause at that to pant against Soonyoung’s shoulder, completely overwhelmed. This whole thing, whatever it is—the weight of it is starting to catch up to him. It’s _Soonyoung._

“Hey,” Soonyoung says, confused. He taps the top of Wonwoo’s head. “Hey. Look at me, what happened?” 

“Nothing. Uh, tired.” 

But Soonyoung knows better. “Come here,” he says softly, leading him to the bed and sitting down with him, cupping his cheek. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry for being weird. I...this is...I don’t quite know what to _do,”_ he says, chuckling. 

It’s comforting, at least, to know Soonyoung’s feeling even one percent as confused as Wonwoo is. “Me neither,” Wonwoo says. 

Understatement of the millenium, but true nonetheless. 

“...Did you still want that drink?” Soonyoung murmurs. 

Wonwoo blinks, and then kisses him again, harder, shoving him back onto the bed. It’s getting more overwhelming, but it’s also _impossible_ to resist, because the more he’s around Soonyoung like this, the more he remembers everything he loved about him; how he’s sweet, and smart, and infuriatingly caring and wonderful. Soonyoung pulls him close, and Wonwoo can feel him smiling, and Wonwoo is _ruined._

And getting moreso, if the way Soonyoung peels Wonwoo’s shirt off, rolls them over, and whispers “You’re tired, remember,” is anything to go by. 

“And?” he asks, knowing full well his defenses are shot and he’s about to let Soonyoung do absolutely whatever he wants. 

“ _And,”_ Soonyoung says, pressing his hips against Wonwoo’s, “I...want to fuck you this time.” 

There had been one tiny, microscopic pause, one hitch in Soonyoung’s speech that tells Wonwoo he’s not quite as confident and assured as he seems, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind, or have any thoughts at all, really, beyond _YEAH, THAT PLEASE._ “Yeah?” is what he manages to say, and Soonyoung nods. “Go for it.” 

Soonyoung exhales, and he kisses down Wonwoo’s neck and over his chest. “Say it?” he says. 

Wonwoo grins, light headed and amused—it’s ridiculous, but it’s Soonyoung, so. He’ll play. “Fuck me,” he sighs, letting voice go soft and breathy, and Soonyoung’s head snaps up. 

“Holy shit, Jeon,” he says, staring. Wonwoo’s ego inflates a little, somewhere under the thousand layers of disbelief. 

Getting fucked by Kwon Soonyoung is not what he expected, if he’d expected anything. Soonyoung completely loses himself, so desperate it makes Wonwoo’s heart hurt; because he doesn’t know how Soonyoung actually feels, after all. He doesn’t know what this is, what they’re doing, what brought it on or why he’s fine with not knowing any of that. What he does know is the way Soonyoung moves, and the sounds he makes, and how he feels _inside him,_ and the way he collapses onto his chest when he comes with a groan. What he knows is Soonyoung, and he knows him so differently now than he did before that it makes him dizzy, and—it’s like he told Chan, he’d stop it if he could, but, well. 

And maybe that makes him an idiot. Maybe this is something completely different for Soonyoung than it is for him. But right now, right now he doesn’t care. He’ll find out when it’s done, he thinks, and enjoy it while he can. 

Soonyoung has tucked his head under Wonwoo’s chin and is exhaling hard against his chest. Wonwoo smiles, and pets his hair soothingly—but he squirms a little, after a moment. “Kwon,” he says. “You haven’t...finished your job.” 

There’s a little surprised noise and Soonyoung raises his head, smiling, to kiss Wonwoo once, then he disappears from Wonwoo’s eyeline to finish him off with his mouth. Wonwoo gasps, not having expected it, and slings an arm over his eyes—it doesn’t take long, and Soonyoung _very_ enthusiastically lets him come in his mouth, swallowing around him with a hum of satisfaction. Wonwoo whimpers, unable to bear uncovering his eyes. He feels Soonyoung crawling back up the bed, though, and settling next to him. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says, and it’s so soft it gets Wonwoo to move his arm and look at him. “Wonwoo...I’m sorry I said I’d kill you on that stupid show.” He’s laying on his stomach, with his head resting on his arms, looking at Wonwoo almost nervously. “That’s what I wanted to say to you. That night at the bar, I mean. When you stormed out.” Wonwoo stares, lips parted, feeling like possibly the biggest asshole of all time. Too much time goes by without a response, and Soonyoung bites his lip— “You don’t have to—like, I don’t expect...I just wanted you to—” 

“No, no, it’s…” He trails off. Soonyoung looks so small like this. “Sorry for not letting you say it.” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “That’s alright. I can’t really blame you.” Wonwoo can feel him withdrawing, and that isn’t what he wants. After a moment, Soonyoung’s lips twist into a grin. “I mean, clearly, I lied, and there was another more accurate option I could have gone with.” 

This is a new facet of Soonyoung he has to get used to—Soonyoung who’s skittish at any mention of their past—certain parts of it, most of the time, anyway. For now, Wonwoo’s alright with treading lightly. The last thing he wants is to scare him off. 

“Imagine the uproar if you’d said you wanted to fuck me on tv,” he says, poking Soonyoung in the shoulder. Soonyoung shakes his head, and huffs out one silent little laugh, but he doesn’t look happy. It throws into focus how normal things had been right up until then—how _nice._ In the hopes of dissolving some of the tension, or at least some of Soonyoung’s nerves, he pulls the covers over both of them, and then puts his arm around Soonyoung and holds him close. “It’s really okay,” he says. 

The main issue Wonwoo is having is that he’s not sure what he can say that’s comforting _and_ won’t make things worse, so he’s ending up with generic _it’s okay_ s instead of what he really wants to say.

_I missed you so much._

Soonyoung shakes his head, laughing at himself a little. “Okay. Sorry. Anyway.” 

_I hated doing this without you._

“Do you need to go? I know it’s late.” 

_I don’t think I’ve been racing to beat you, I think I’ve been racing to get back to you and it’s absolutely terrifying._

“Wonwoo?” 

“No,” he says, too quickly, trying to push the bone-shaking realization he’s just had out of his mind. “I mean. I have an interview tomorrow I have to leave early for, but I...I don’t _need_ to go.” He looks at Soonyoung—there’s eyeliner smudged under his eyes, and hickeys on his neck, and his lipstick is completely gone. And he’s smiling, now; he looks marginally less pensive and terrified. Wonwoo could look at him forever, like this, or any other way. “I can stay, if you want.” 

Soonyoung beams, and snuggles up against his side. “Mm, I want.” 

  


Wonwoo wakes up having forgotten where he fell asleep. When he realizes, he wonders if he’s dreaming. There’d been a time after Soonyoung left Shin that Wonwoo wondered if he’d dreamed him, but the heaviness in his chest hadn’t been there before, so he had to have been real. 

This is the same, but different, he thinks. Wonwoo definitely feels something in his chest, when he looks at Soonyoung, still asleep against him—he’s just not sure what it is. Either way, he isn’t dreaming. 

When Soonyoung raises his head, eyes half closed and hair sticking up on one side, Wonwoo smiles softly. 

As soon as he’s blinked himself awake enough to register Wonwoo’s presence, Soonyoung smiles, and kisses him. It feels intimate—Wonwoo guesses it _is_ intimate, so that makes sense—but it feels _really_ intimate: waking up together, kissing before they’ve even said good morning, smiley and sleepy. Wonwoo feels happy, but there’s—there’s _stuff_ lurking. Things only feel this good and this soft and this nice because they haven’t talked, they haven’t addressed anything, the only thing they’ve come anywhere near ‘working through’ is how their rivalry went bad and even then...even then they hadn’t discussed the whole picture, they’d both avoided what _really_ set things off and turned things sour. Wonwoo takes a breath. “Hey, Soonyoung…” he says against Soonyoung’s lips. 

It’s not enough to distract him. “Mm,” Soonyoung responds, still kissing him lazily, moving from Wonwoo’s bottom lip to his cheek to his neck. 

“Soonyoung, I think…” 

He must be able to hear in Wonwoo’s voice that he’s about to say something real, because Soonyoung seizes the very first pause he takes to decide how to word things. “Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Yes?” 

“When do you need to leave?” 

He checks his phone despite the slight exasperation he’s feeling. “I don’t know. I guess maybe an hour? But—” 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says again, taking one of his hands between both his own. He lifts it, presses his lips to it. His voice is nearly a whisper when he speaks again. “Wonwoo, I think I know where you’re heading, and even if I was ready to have that conversation, I think we’d need more than an hour.” He crowds into Wonwoo’s space and holds his face in his hands. “This is...we said we felt better, right?” Wonwoo nods. “Don’t let me screw that up for us yet.” 

It’s obvious Wonwoo isn’t going to get anywhere with this now, and it’s definitely not comforting that Soonyoung evidently thinks they’ll hate each other again the second they try to communicate—he lets it go anyway. Freezing up when asked things that he doesn’t have easy answers to has always been a classic Soonyoung maneuver, and for _now_ it’s not enough to sway Wonwoo. 

He shakes his head, grinning just a little. “I must be out of my mind,” he says. It might sound like an insult if it was someone else he was sleeping with, but he knows Soonyoung is fully aware how insane this all is. 

Soonyoung smiles. “Lucky for me.” 

An hour later, when Wonwoo’s leaving, Soonyoung grabs his hand and pulls him back. “Hey. Your interview. When they ask about me…” He raises his eyebrows once. “Be extra nasty.” Wonwoo mirrors the devilish grin Soonyoung’s wearing, and pulls him close by the ties of his robe. “ _Really_ let me have it,” he whispers, and holds Wonwoo by the back of the neck to kiss him one more time. 

  


The day of the race, Wonwoo sees the interview played back on Prisma’s feed in the cafeteria at the garage complex. They show a clip of Soonyoung, first, calling Wonwoo’s win a fluke, calling Wonwoo a one-hit wonder with no real ambition and an absolute disgrace to the sport. Then they show the interviewer asking Wonwoo if he has a response. “It’s not my fault he’s not used to actually having to work to win. He’s needed someone to take him down for a long, long time,” he’s saying on the screen, and then he looks into the camera. “It was always going to be me.”

That quote is being shared endlessly on socials, plastered on headlines, the video clip is looping on billboards and screens across the _planet._ It’s weird—even at their rivalry’s most intense, things never reached this level. Wonwoo’s also never _enjoyed_ it before; he’d never understood the actual _fun_ Soonyoung seemed to have doing this...now, though, Wonwoo’s in on it, and things are completely different. 

When they’d arrived at the venue, there’d been an enormous image of the two of them facing off angrily. “No fair,” Soonyoung had said, “I think they made you taller than you actually are.” He’d frowned up at the display screen, then back at Wonwoo, attempting to gauge how tall they are in comparison to each other. 

Wonwoo had looked around to make sure no one was watching, and leaned in against his ear. “Well, yeah, Soonie. That thing’s 20 meters high.” 

Soonyoung had just shoved his shoulder, and rolled his eyes, and taken off ahead of him. They have an image to uphold, after all. 

The drivers are announced, and make their way to their cars in reverse order, which leaves Soonyoung and Wonwoo last in the entrance tunnel. Soonyoung turns around to look at him, when it’s only the two of them left, and Wonwoo’s breath threatens to catch at the heavy, crackling eye contact they make until finally Soonyoung’s name is announced and he smiles, then sprints out. 

Wonwoo takes a breath and exhales it quickly when he’s left alone. He grins down at the asphalt as the announcer hypes up the crowd and builds up to his entrance— _he’s had his first taste of blood and now he’s back to kill again, your reigning champion_ —it’s ridiculous. Wonwoo isn’t sure he can ever remember being happier. 

Though there’s other contributing factors, he supposes. 

He wins again. It happens extremely fast, but he does at least realize it’s happening this time. He beams and waves to the crowd and does more interviews and shows up to the afterparty, he lets himself be congratulated by other drivers and by industry bigshots and celebrities—but he mostly has eyes for Soonyoung, who’s watching him from across the room. As the night wears on, he texts Soonyoung his room number. 

It’s even later when Soonyoung finally arrives. He’s been sitting at the edge of his bed, silently waiting, and he’s beginning to think he’s being stood up and is _just_ starting to panic when there’s a knock at his door. He springs to his feet, then takes a breath, and tries to look like he hasn’t just been fretting for an hour over whether Soonyoung was coming or not. He isn’t sure he succeeds. 

“Hi,” Soonyoung says firmly, striding into the room as soon as Wonwoo opens the door. 

“Took you—” 

“I know, sorry. I was...thinking.” Wonwoo blinks, not sure what to make of that. Soonyoung sits on his bed, and then pats the spot next to him until Wonwoo joins him. “I was thinking,” he says, softer this time, and bites his lip. “...Can we just pretend all of this never happened? Not _this_ —” he gestures between the two of them— “but, just—the bad stuff?” 

The bad stuff, he says. Wonwoo nearly laughs. They’d _talked_ about the misunderstandings from right after Soonyoung transferred companies, even if it had only been a little bit. They know where the other was coming from, at least, even if they don’t agree with how things were handled by the other party. Which leaves roughly one thing for them to pretend never happened—the thing that triggered all of this in the first place. 

Soonyoung’s looking at him, eyes wide, lips pressed together nervously. It isn’t what Wonwoo wants. He doesn’t know how to do that, or if he could even if he did. “Just...blow past all of it. Straight to being fine again. Am I understanding that right?” 

He tries to sound unimpressed, and firm, and intimidating, but it comes out small and unsure. Soonyoung shrugs. “I need you in my life, Wonwoo,” he says, voice shaking. “It’s been five years and I can’t stand not having you in my life and I’m afraid if we try to…” He looks away, seeming close to tears. When he looks back his face is set in determination. “I just got you back. I don’t want to lose you again. _Please._ ” 

Lose him again, like it was an accident, like he wandered off when he wasn’t supposed to. 

But Wonwoo is nothing if not a sucker for a cute boy, and a glutton for misery. He sighs. “If we did...would that make _this_ —” he gestures between them the same way Soonyoung had— “...a _thing?”_

It terrifies him to ask, because he doesn’t fucking know what a Thing is, and he knows he’s not going to get any clarification on the matter from Kwon fucking Soonyoung. But if it’s what Soonyoung’s willing to give… 

Wonwoo knows it’s pathetic, and stupid, and it makes him _such_ a fucking idiot. But he’s been waiting too long for this. 

“I...wouldn’t mind. If it was a _thing,_ ” Soonyoung says, far too lightly. “Nice to blow off steam, y’know. This is such a high stress time for us, after all. And. You know. Nice to...be around you again.” 

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? It feels right. They’re not _supposed_ to not be in each other’s lives, Wonwoo has always felt that way. He may know in his brain that it isn’t fair to him, but his heart has been reaching out for Soonyoung for so long that having him back—having him like _this_ —it just feels too good to give up. So Wonwoo nods, just barely, and Soonyoung’s face lights up. He sticks his lower lip out a little, and then hugs Wonwoo so, so tightly. “I missed you, you know,” he says, cheek resting against Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

Wonwoo laughs. “You kind of have a weird way of showing it. But...I missed you too.” 

Soonyoung turns his head and presses his face where Wonwoo’s shoulder meets his neck. “I thought about you all the time,” he says, muffled. “I’ve wanted to fix things for so long, you know, they—they wouldn’t let me contact people from other companies, starting out, and—I just— _missed_ you.” 

They haven’t _fixed_ things by a long shot, but Wonwoo nudges Soonyoung up off his shoulder and, once he’s sat back in his own space, holds a hand out to him. Soonyoung clasps it in his own, and Wonwoo is nearly bowled over by the sudden rush of emotion he feels. 

“You called me Soonie earlier,” Soonyoung says with a small sniffle. 

He had, hadn’t he. “Did I?” Soonyoung nods. Apparently at some point they’d leaned toward each other, because Soonyoung is suddenly very close. Wonwoo could count the specks of glitter on his cheeks, if he wanted. “...I missed you too,” he says again, but the last syllable is swallowed up by Soonyoung’s lips pressing softly against his. 

It doesn’t take long for Soonyoung to straddle Wonwoo’s lap, and Wonwoo really doesn’t think he’ll ever shake the image of Soonyoung sinking down onto him, bottom lip caught between his teeth and fingers clutching at Wonwoo’s shoulders and chest—let alone how he starts smiling once he’s gotten going, how he holds Wonwoo’s face and beams down at him and showers him in kisses. Wonwoo could fucking _die._

“This is so fucking _weird_ ,” Soonyoung laughs breathily. “It’s _you_.” 

Wonwoo huffs. “Weird isn’t exactly—fuck—not exactly the reaction one hopes for?” 

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Soonyoung mumbles, distracted—he has apparently found a good angle and looks to be concentrating very hard. “It’s—ha—“ He lets his head fall back, and when he straightens up to look at Wonwoo again he’s smiling. “It’s good,” he says, arching an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah?” Soonyoung nods. “How good,” Wonwoo says, sliding his hands down Soonyoung’s hips and over his thighs. 

“Really good,” he sighs, and loops his arms around Wonwoo’s neck and kisses him. “So fucking good,” he whispers against Wonwoo’s lips. 

Wonwoo tries not to think about how now that he’s had this nothing will ever compare, or the fact that it’s probably not even his to keep. 

  


— — —

  


“Where have you _been?”_ Chan asks. “I know you’re busier than me, but I can’t even get a text back from you lately.” 

Wonwoo laughs, stares straight ahead, and lights a cigarette. “Sleeping with Soonyoung.” 

When he chances a look at Chan he’s staring in disbelief. “Holy fucking christ, you’ve finally lost it,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah. You know, I think I really have.” 

Chan shakes his head in shock. “Well, if you’re serious I’m obviously going to need details.” 

  


— — —

  


The next race is at their home track. Soonyoung and Wonwoo both know every curve, every slope and incline by heart and everyone, _everyone_ knows this is a race only between the two of them. 

They’ve kept viciously slamming each other in the press, worse than they ever have before. When Wonwoo shows up to the garage complex and greets Jihoon and Hansol they greet him with twin impresses stares. “What?” 

“Nothing. You just usually don’t play into the rivalry thing this much and...things are getting rough out there, dude.” 

Wonwoo cracks a smile. “I guess that’s what winning does to you. It would explain Soonyoung, for all those years.” 

Jihoon whistles lowly and raises his eyebrows, holding out a cup of coffee to Wonwoo. “Remind me to never end up on your bad side. I’m surprised Soonyoung’s still walking, the way you’ve been all over his ass.” 

Wonwoo chokes on his drink. 

  


Before Wonwoo knows it he’s on the center podium again, another platinum trophy being pushed into his hands. The list of people who have won three consecutive Prisma Cup races is extremely short, and Wonwoo is on it. It had come down to .364 seconds between him and Soonyoung, but Wonwoo had won. 

“Maybe he’s just lost whatever he had that made him so incredible,” Wonwoo says to a reporter. “But he shouldn’t feel bad—I’m sure plenty of people peak before they’re thirty.” 

“Well, he’d know, wouldn’t he? He’s in the middle of peaking before thirty as we speak,” Soonyoung shoots back later. “But he’d better watch himself. He forgets I know him—I know he’s got nothing behind all the shit he’s talking to back it up.” 

They pass each other in the garage complex between interviews and getting ready to leave. Soonyoung grabs Wonwoo’s wrist as he walks by, and Wonwoo pauses, turns, looks around to see if anyone’s watching. “Yours?” Soonyoung asks, hushed. 

Wonwoo nods. “Text you the address.” 

And with that they’re on their way. 

He gets there quicker than Wonwoo anticipated, letting himself in and shucking off his jacket as soon as the door slides shut behind him. By the looks of it he hasn’t even showered, the sweat of the race still clinging to him—and he’s just wearing that godforsaken mesh top he wears under his suit. “Your place is nice,” he says. 

He watches Wonwoo expectantly as he strides over to him—Wonwoo taps a finger on his chest before dragging it down to his navel. “Do you wear this shit just to rile me up?” 

“Whatever do you mean, Wonwoo?” Soonyoung says, widening his eyes, the picture of innocence. 

God, Wonwoo isn’t gonna make it through much more pre-sex banter. “Running around with your nipples all out?” 

It makes laughter bubble out of Soonyoung. “Do you have a problem with my nipples?” He hooks his wrists around Wonwoo’s neck, and smiles up at him. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Well, then, give me a break. I was in a hurry.” 

Wonwoo’s hands settle on Soonyoung’s waist. “To do what?” 

“You know what.” 

“I don’t. Enlighten me,” Wonwoo says, fingertips now roaming under Soonyoung’s shirt, over his skin. 

There’s a moment where Soonyoung presses his lips together trying to hold back his smile, fails, and then pushes himself up to take Wonwoo’s bottom lip between his own. When he pulls away he’s looking up at Wonwoo almost nervously. “To get your hands on me,” he whispers. “To get you inside me.” That, he punctuates with a finger tracing the front of Wonwoo’s pants. “You’re hard.” 

Well, yeah. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow,” Wonwoo asks hoarsely. 

Soonyoung smiles softly. “Empty.” 

Wonwoo nods. “Good,” he says, and pulls Soonyoung flush against him to kiss him, hard. They stumble their way into Wonwoo’s bedroom and Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung’s stupid shirt over his head. Soonyoung fights with his too-tight jeans while Wonwoo hurriedly strips down as well and once they’re naked they waste no time. Wonwoo makes quick work of slicking himself up and they both groan when he presses as deep as he can into Soonyoung. He’s still not used to this, having Soonyoung this _close_ and looking up at him like—like— 

“Come on already, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung urges, so Wonwoo focuses on that instead. 

It’s frantic and intense and a _lot_ —Soonyoung moans and meets Wonwoo’s movements like his life depends on it, digs his nails into Wonwoo’s skin as Wonwoo holds onto him until his fingers leave bruises, bites down on his shoulders and neck, moves into him as hard as he can and harder until they’re both too exhausted to go on.

Soonyoung’s voice cracks when he finally gets something out other than Wonwoo’s name, once they’ve finally collapsed onto the sheets for good. “My ass won’t survive if you keep winning,” he forces out, panting. “It’s giving you some kind of a complex.” 

Wonwoo’s own throat is raw as well; he feels it when he chuckles breathlessly at Soonyoung and clears his throat so he can respond. “Stop me, then.” He turns, just enough to kiss the first part of Soonyoung he can reach—his arm, somewhere around his bicep. Then he feels two fingers at his chin, and he tilts his head to meet Soonyoung’s eyes. He’s blinking sleepily at Wonwoo, and it’s endearing enough to make Wonwoo exert the effort to actually kiss him on the lips. 

“Maybe I will,” Soonyoung says, pushing Wonwoo’s damp hair back from his face. But Wonwoo just kisses him again, and settles against his side, exhausted and sore and _blissfully_ happy. He falls asleep nearly instantly, and overnight he lets himself forget how making this boy his home once before almost destroyed him. 

  


The first thing Wonwoo hears when he wakes up is his shower running. He taps at his phone to get his wake up automations going, then relaxes into his bed again. He looks to his right, at the empty spot in his bed, and considers joining Soonyoung in the shower—but he’s too tired from last night to move. The thought makes him grin, at the memory and the soreness in his muscles. 

That, and there’s glitter in his bed. 

He’s scrolling through his phone when he hears the shower turn off, and then Soonyoung’s voice. “Ah, sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer—I was already gross from the race and then...you know.” 

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo starts, then looks up at Soonyoung—“ _fuck._ ” He’s _covered_ in bruises and hickeys. Soonyoung laughs shyly and rubs the back of his neck as Wonwoo looks him up and down. “Woof.” 

It makes Soonyoung laugh more, then he raises an eyebrow and nods pointedly toward Wonwoo. “Yeah, well, you should see the other guy.” 

Positive he looks just as bad, Wonwoo doesn’t plan on bothering to look—but he does move to sit up, and notices a painful stinging across his back. He angles himself so he can see his mirror and finds his back littered with scratches. Soonyoung joins him on the bed as Wonwoo winces at his reflection. “Does it hurt,” he asks, voice almost as soft and gentle as his fingers tracing along the marks he’d left. Wonwoo shivers. With the adrenaline of the race worn off, they’re much softer with each other, and before long Wonwoo sees Soonyoung’s head dip down in the mirror and feels his mouth moving along the clusters of scratches. Rather than arousal, he feels his chest tighten and his heart swell with affection—and he doesn’t think Soonyoung means for it to turn him on anyway. 

When he hooks his chin over Wonwoo’s bare shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist, he gets his confirmation—Soonyoung murmurs a quiet _I’m sorry_ before kissing Wonwoo on the cheek. 

Wonwoo turns, and cups Soonyoung’s face in one hand. “It’s alright,” he says, smiling. He wrinkles his nose before continuing. “I like it.” 

Soonyoung barks out a laugh. “Oh, that knowledge is seriously going to come in handy once my dick regains the ability to get hard.” 

Snorting, Wonwoo stands to get dressed, letting the bedcovers fall away from him and walking over toward his closet. There’s a tiny squeal from behind him, and he turns back, eyebrows lowered. “Nothing, sorry,” Soonyoung says, waving a hand in front of him. “It’s just your little butt is so _teeny._ ” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Don’t make fun,” he calls over his shoulder, continuing to his closet. The door slides open and he walks inside to grab some pants. 

“I’m not, I’m not! It’s adorable,” Soonyoung’s saying behind him. Rolling his eyes again, but smiling fondly despite himself, Wonwoo gets dressed in silence until Soonyoung speaks again. “Wonwoo,” he says, and Wonwoo spins around to find that he’s followed him into the closet, still in his towel. He’s quiet, now, looking down and pouting a little. “Do I need to, like...d’you want me to go, or could I stick around?” Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, questioning. “Well, I mean, it’s daytime, and I’m in your _house_ —I don’t want to...impose.” 

He’s asking about _boundaries._ What a shocking turn of events. “You can stay.” 

“...In that case, can I pretty please borrow some clothes?” 

So Wonwoo digs out a pair of track pants and a t-shirt—then, after some thought, a hoodie. Soonyoung used to keep their room so hot Wonwoo could barely stand it. “I think I keep it colder in here than you like,” he says, suddenly feeling shy. 

To his horror, Soonyoung’s smile fades slowly. Are hoodies the _line,_ then? 

But when Soonyoung opens his mouth that’s not what he says. “I didn’t lie when I said I kissed you because I wanted to.” 

Fuck. “Okay?” Wonwoo says weakly. 

Soonyoung’s gaze shifts down and away as he worries his lip. “I know you think I hate you. I know I haven’t done much to give you the impression of...not. But I just. I don’t,” he finishes, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in his own words, annoyed at his inability to articulate. Wonwoo waits for him to continue. “And...what I meant, that time, about our previous arrangement?” Wonwoo’s eyebrows shoot up. He can’t believe he’s getting this much. Soonyoung takes his hands and looks at him, finally. “Wonwoo, you _won._ And you were so _happy._ And as pissed as I was to lose, I was happy _for_ you. But I’m not supposed to be, right?” He pauses. Wonwoo squeezes his hand and nods at him, to show he’s listening. “It just all of a sudden hit me how I’ve let other people tell me how to act around you for five fucking years? My best friend. My favorite person in the _world._ So when I felt like I wanted to kiss you I didn’t think about it. I just—I really wanted to, so I just did it. I’m sorry if...if I shouldn’t have, or if it was inconsiderate, or I should have asked…” Now he’s tearing up, and Wonwoo feels seconds away from doing the same. Soonyoung is so fragile right now, after what for him equates to baring his entire soul, so Wonwoo takes a breath. 

“Okay,” he says. He reaches up and brushes a speck of glitter off the tip of Soonyoung’s nose. “Was it so hard to tell me?” 

“Yes.” The release of tension in his shoulders tells Wonwoo he’s not feeling as exposed, now, at least. 

“Why?” 

Soonyoung looks down and smiles, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just being silly.” 

But Wonwoo doesn’t want him to think that, so he sighs a little. “You know...you can talk to me. Like, you can say your thoughts out loud. Silly or not. I’ll listen.” 

A hand raises to stroke Wonwoo’s cheek. “I know,” Soonyoung says simply. 

“...We used to tell each other everything.” 

The soft smile on Soonyoung’s face dims, just a little. He pauses. “I know,” he says again. “I guess that’s...part of why it’s hard.” 

_We aren’t the same as we used to be,_ is what Wonwoo hears, _no matter how good things seem._ And he knows it’s true, so it pangs in his heart, threatens to make him cry. 

“Well,” Wonwoo eventually gets out. “Thank you for telling me. And...I don’t, by the way.” 

Soonyoung cocks his head to one side. “Don’t what?” 

“I don’t think you hate me. Anymore.” 

Relaxing further, Soonyoung shoves his shoulder lightly. “Good.” 

  


— — —

  


Five races later, that’s as far as they’ve gotten. Feelings-wise. 

So they stay each other’s secret, and the truth is that despite everything, Wonwoo is enjoying it immensely—it’s intoxicating, a little, and he thinks Soonyoung feels the same. They can’t stop leaving marks on each other and refusing to cover them. They can’t stop doing things in places they really, really shouldn’t—like the bathroom at promotional events— 

(Soonyoung corners Wonwoo and then fucks him against the stall door, so hard it shakes. People try to come in more than a few times, but leave as soon as they realize what’s going on—usually instantly, because they aren’t being quiet, and they get louder every time they’re almost caught.) 

—or long unused stairwells of older hotel buildings— 

(“Oh shit, Wonwoo, these pants are way too tight to get a boner in, I’ll _die_ —” Wonwoo doesn’t let up, though, his hand continuing to move at the front of Soonyoung’s pants. “You’re so mean,” Soonyoung whimpers. 

“Mean would be if I stopped,” Wonwoo says, and unzips Soonyoung’s pants and shoves them down just enough. 

“Oh my god, please don’t,” Soonyoung mumbles mindlessly, one hand working its way into Wonwoo’s hair as he kisses his neck.) 

—or the backseat of Soonyoung’s manager’s car— 

(Soonyoung rides Wonwoo as the windows fog up, and when Wonwoo warns him that he hears someone outside the car Soonyoung just moans that he doesn’t care. “Fuck off you don’t care, what if we get caught,” Wonwoo forces out, trying his best to get Soonyoung to slow down—but he just goes faster, moans louder. It takes a second for his mind to catch up—”Oh my god, you’d _like_ it—that is so fucked, Kwon,” is what he says, but his dick certainly sees no issue with it. Soonyoung’s head drops onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and he nods frantically, whining wordlessly, biting into his shoulder.) 

(As they’d re-dressed, Soonyoung had caught Wonwoo’s face in his hands. “Hey. If we got caught for real…” Wonwoo swallows. “I’d be in really big trouble, I think.” It’s as serious as Wonwoo’s seen him. He tries not to dwell on the implications.) 

Soonyoung beats Wonwoo in the next race. Wonwoo beats Soonyoung in the next one. It’s this constant push and pull, on and off the track, and Wonwoo hasn’t ever felt this with anyone—the excitement, the heat under his skin every time they touch, the adrenaline every time they’re in the same room, knowing what they know that no one else knows. Whatever this is, it’s getting more and more intense with every kiss, every frantic, hurried orgasm and every one that draws out for what feels like hours. 

Most of the time, Wonwoo doesn’t _care_ what it is. The shadow of having to figure it out at some point looms over him, but it’s very easy to ignore that when he’s with Soonyoung and letting himself be distracted by his mouth or his hands or any number of other parts of him that Wonwoo can’t get enough of. 

(Which is all of the parts.) 

He does wish he knew if Soonyoung was feeling the same thing—in any capacity, about just one of the thousands of things swirling around in Wonwoo’s mind when he’s _not_ distracted. But he’s Soonyoung, so he gives no clue, and keeps his deepest feelings—whatever they are—secret and unknowable. 

“What do you think people would say,” Soonyoung says one night, fingers buried inside Wonwoo, “What do you think they’d say if they knew? How after you bring home your trophies you come begging to me for this?” He smiles when he says it, one eyebrow quirked up cheekily. “No matter how many times you manage to beat me out there you’re still _mine_ in here. Isn’t that right?” 

And Wonwoo can only nod, because no matter how Soonyoung actually feels, or if it’s just dirty talk for him—it’s true, so what can Wonwoo say? 

Soonyoung leans in close to kiss him, still working his fingers, and murmurs again: “You’re mine, you’re mine.” 

“Yours, yours, yours,” Wonwoo repeats, because in his current state, he doesn’t mind admitting it. 

They don’t always make it easy for each other—there are press days where Soonyoung keeps working Wonwoo up every time they have a second alone, touching him through his pants under tables and watching him squirm, nights where Soonyoung gets too cocky in his post-race interviews and needs taken down a peg and finds himself shoved onto his hands and knees as Wonwoo slams into him mercilessly—but then there are the nights Soonyoung is quiet and breathy and whispering Wonwoo’s name, nights where he drags his lips across Wonwoo’s skin and fucks him slow enough to make him shudder. 

Wonwoo wonders what the root cause of this is—the constant desperation to get each other off. Maybe it’s the competition, maybe it’s the stress. For Wonwoo, it’s how long he’s been waiting for this. He thinks for Soonyoung it might be how he’s avoiding talking about things. 

Sure, in between things they catch each other up on their lives since they fell out—but they don’t mention the falling out. They have to be careful, have to dance around anything that might be—again. Too serious. 

But Wonwoo has missed his friend, so he’s happy to take any catching up Soonyoung will give him. 

“Are you and Hyunjoon actually close?” Wonwoo asks one day. They’re sitting on Soonyoung’s balcony overlooking the city as the sun sets. It would all be terribly romantic if that was a word he didn’t feel like he had to keep locked in his ribcage for fear of scaring Soonyoung away. “Or is that another of Prisma’s genius fairy tales?” Soonyoung’s not looking at him, and there’s this tiny wince that crosses his face before he answers. 

“We’re close,” he says. “He started racing because he _admires_ me.” He’s smiling softly. “We’re really close.” 

Wonwoo smiles too. It’s sweet. Soonyoung had always had tons of friends, but he’s more guarded than people think and Wonwoo had always been the one he was _close_ to. For a second he thinks maybe he’s jealous to not be singularly special anymore, but that’s not the case. He’s glad Soonyoung has people—glad other people get to have him. Soonyoung deserves to be loved, and not just by fans who don’t know him. 

“I _think_ Chan admires me,” Wonwoo says, tilting his head in consideration. “Like, he didn’t start racing because of me or anything, but he’s the closest thing I have to family here. Other than Jihoon and Hansol.” 

Soonyoung lowers his eyebrows. “Of course he admires you,” he says, weirdly indignant on Wonwoo’s behalf. “Of course he does. You’re an amazing driver and—” He cuts himself off. Wonwoo holds his breath, but no other reasoning comes. Soonyoung’s clearly not sure what he should say, what he _can_ say. Another few seconds pass, and then Soonyoung shakes his head, smiling. “Anyway. What about your actual family? How are they?” 

It’s weird to even think about the fact that Soonyoung has met his family, now, after all this time. “They’re good.” 

“I saw them at the race you won. Minho’s nearly as tall as you now.” 

“He’s in university. And Juho’s a bigshot astrobiologist.” 

There’s a pause. Soonyoung’s expression softens. “And who was the little girl?” he asks quietly. 

The barely there excitement in his face makes Wonwoo’s heart stutter. “My niece. Jinsook.” 

Soonyoung’s face lights up. “ _Jinsook_ ,” he repeats in awe. “Seulgi’s?” Wonwoo nods. “How old?!” 

“Four.” 

Born after Soonyoung and Wonwoo had stopped sharing things with each other. “Ah.” But it doesn’t go further than that. No mention of the timing, or how he could have not known, or why Wonwoo didn’t tell him. “...You with a kiddo sounds _way_ unfairly precious.” 

Wonwoo grins. “She calls me Uncle Nonu.” 

“Oh my _god_.” Soonyoung clutches at his chest. “Don’t _tell_ me that.” He lays against the arm of the little outdoor (not)loveseat, throwing his legs over Wonwoo’s lap. “I was always so jealous of your big family. I wasn't meant to be an only child.” 

“Hence Hyunjoon?” 

“Huh. I guess so.” He gets this faraway look on his face. “I...I just hate being alone. And I almost always...am.” 

_What about all your flings_ , is what Wonwoo doesn’t say. _What about all the houses and hotel rooms you’ve left in the middle of the night? What about whoever did whatever this is with you before me?_ It’s what he thinks, because he can’t help it, but he doesn’t say it. 

Because this is the kind of thing Soonyoung doesn’t talk about with just anyone, because people who don’t know him would say, oh Soonyoung, you have tons of friends, and so many people at the company, and co-workers, you can’t possibly say you’re always alone. But Wonwoo knows Soonyoung, and he knows this industry, so he knows what he’s saying. 

“I’m glad you have Hyunjoon now.” _Have you not let anyone else in the whole time I’ve been gone?_

“Me too.” He purses his lips, and holds out a hand—Wonwoo lets him link their fingers and they meet each other’s eyes. “I’m...glad…” He takes a breath, and looks away. “I’m glad I have you now.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say to that. He trails his fingers over Soonyoung’s knee as he thinks about it. He can’t say _you could have had me this whole time_ or _you never really lost me_ or _I’ve been right here waiting for you,_ even though it’s all the truth. He sighs. “Soonie…” 

Before he can decide what to say, Soonyoung has sat up, and leaned his chin on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. “I know,” Soonyoung whispers, as if he’s heard everything Wonwoo had been thinking. It sounds like he’s teared up. “I know. I’m just glad.” 

Between all of it—as it gets more frequent, more _domestic_ , Wonwoo starts to let himself think: maybe this is something, maybe something’s happening here, maybe something’s been happening for awhile. 

  


The drivers will drop to single digits soon. People like to say the top ten is where the real competition begins. It’s usually the people who’ve never raced a day in their lives—how could anyone else say the first fifteen races aren’t the _real_ competition, when any driver could go out at any moment, and every race is every driver fighting tooth and nail for their place? 

In any case, there’s still thirteen of them. And it’s in that top thirteen race that neither Wonwoo or Soonyoung wins. 

Hyunjoon does. 

And Hayoung comes second, and Wonwoo comes third. And Soonyoung is off the podium. 

Wonwoo thinks it’s lucky it was Hyunjoon and Hayoung and himself up there—all important to Soonyoung in different ways—because the Soonyoung Wonwoo knows should be _rioting_ at not placing top three. But instead he’s sniffling, hugging Hyunjoon after the awards and shooting Wonwoo the proudest most joyous smile over his shoulder as he does. Wonwoo’s with his team, and Jihoon snorts. “Fake. You _know_ he can’t actually be that happy to have lost.” 

Honestly? It’s probably true, but that doesn’t make his happiness for Hyunjoon winning fake. Wonwoo doesn’t bother responding, just keeps watching Soonyoung with a soft, fond smile on his face. 

He should have responded. When they’re packing up, Jihoon sends Hansol to go grab something he forgot, and when he and Wonwoo are alone, he speaks. 

“How long?” 

Wonwoo looks up. “How long what?” 

Jihoon’s nostrils flare, and he crosses his arms. “Have you told him anything? The stuff we’re working on?” 

_“Who?”_

“Have you told Soonyoung about the engine. Or my research. What have you told him.” 

Oh. Shit.

“Why would I tell Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks, thinking he actually sounds pretty convincing for how he’s internally shitting himself. “ _When_ would I have had the chance?” 

Certainly not earlier that day, when Soonyoung’s dick had been so far down his throat he could barely breathe, let alone speak. 

Jihoon just shoots Wonwoo a furious, unimpressed glare. Wonwoo tries to hold his gaze and seem innocent, but Jihoon doesn’t let up—Wonwoo exhales, hard. “Stop fucking looking at me like that.” 

One of Jihoon’s eyebrows arches up. “Like what?” 

“I—” God damnit. God fucking damnit. “I haven’t told him anything, alright? I wouldn’t do that—I do want to win, still.” 

Jihoon takes a few steps toward him. “I want you to win. Like, I want _you_ to win. I got into this with you, for you. I don’t want some full of himself shithead to benefit from my hard work. _Our_ hard work.” 

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose. “He isn’t...he’s not like that.” 

“Are you that fucking stupid?” 

“We’ve worked things out—” 

“Have you?” 

“Jihoon—” 

“Whatever.” Jihoon turns away and goes to continue packing. “You could get laid elsewhere, is all I’m saying.” 

It is not all he’s saying. Wonwoo strides over and grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He’s poised to yell at him, tell him to mind his own business—but— 

“But it wouldn’t be him,” is what makes it out, and it doesn’t come out a yell, or loud in the slightest. Jihoon’s face softens, and Wonwoo shrugs. “He’s what I want,” he whispers. 

Jihoon raises his eyebrows and blows out a puff of air. “Does he know that?” 

Fucking fantastic question. “I don’t know.” Jihoon looks at him and it’s so full of pity Wonwoo wants to die. “I haven’t, like, told him. But sometimes...sometimes it’s like we’re _so_ on the same page, I _swear_ he knows. Most of the time, that’s how...just, it _feels_ like he knows, and maybe like he feels the same?” 

His cheeks are burning, by now. Jihoon sighs. “If you’re insisting on doing this, you should probably be sure.” 

Wonwoo slumps, and sits on the hood of his car before realizing what he’s doing and jumping up to lean against the wall instead. “How’d you even figure it out?” 

Jihoon laughs. “It’s adorable that you think you aren’t obvious...even without the mysterious glitter that started showing up all over you.” 

Holy shit. He’s going to kill Soonyoung. Still, he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. 

“I don’t like this, Wonwoo.” He looks up and Jihoon’s arms are crossed again. “I don’t trust it. And don’t get me wrong, buddy. I can _see_ that you’re happy.” Jihoon bites his lip. “For now.” The smile falls from Wonwoo’s lips. “I just want you to stay that way. That’s all.” He claps Wonwoo on the back. “And I sure as fuck don’t want those rich Prisma assholes getting their hands on my tech.” 

  


Wonwoo would love to pretend everything Jihoon said didn’t stick in his head, but it has. Not the bits about Soonyoung stealing his tech, or whatever—that’s just Jihoon being paranoid. But the other things...the feelings things. That stuff is there, just beneath the surface, and it festers there for the whole plane ride back home. So when he gets there, he beelines to Soonyoung’s, ready to be distracted. 

“Hi?” Soonyoung laughs when Wonwoo buzzes to be let in. “I didn’t think I’d see you until later this week.” 

There’s no time for this. “I needed—” Soonyoung has taken one of Wonwoo’s hands in his own, and it melts Wonwoo down. “I needed to see you,” he says, nearly a whimper. There’s concern on Soonyoung’s face now, and he shakes his head. He opens his mouth, presumably to ask what’s wrong, but Wonwoo cuts him off. “I need you.” 

Soonyoung nods, and reaches up to hold Wonwoo’s face in his hands, because he can tell something’s going on, because he _knows_ Wonwoo. “Okay, of course, I’m here. I’m right here, okay? Tell me what you need. Anything.” 

Wonwoo looks into his eyes, and he’s so genuinely willing to try to help—he could ask, any number of questions he has, and try to actually fix what’s bothering him. But he can’t bring himself to. “Please, Soonyoung.” 

Soonyoung understands. 

When they’ve finished, Wonwoo sighs, feeling much better—being close to Soonyoung just...tends to do that. Soonyoung rolls off him, and props his head up on an elbow. “Better?” he asks, smiling. Wonwoo nods, silent and blissed out, and Soonyoung laughs. “Hey. I have a question.” 

Now might not be the best time, considering Wonwoo’s brain is still cooling down, but he looks over at Soonyoung anyway. “Mm.” 

Soonyoung bites his lip. “You go all dreamy whenever I fuck you,” he says, and Wonwoo’s face heats up. “Why?” 

Well, the whole truth is out of the question. “You’re just...so much.” 

“And what exactly does _that_ mean?” 

For a moment, Wonwoo considers. “Overwhelming.” 

When he looks back at Soonyoung, he’s smiling. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You’re just...it’s you. It’s...you,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung’s smile falters just a little in surprise. He hadn’t really meant to say that much, or say it that cryptically. “This just doesn’t even feel real, sometimes.” 

Soonyoung stares. “...I think I know what you mean,” he says softly. 

Doubtful. But maybe not. “Do you?” 

Slowly, Soonyoung’s eyebrows knit together, and then, even slower, he puts a hand on Wonwoo’s cheek and leans over to press their lips together. It makes Wonwoo shiver, how soft and sincere it feels. He blinks when Soonyoung finally pulls away. “You’re so much too, you know,” Soonyoung murmurs. 

Maybe something’s happening here, maybe something’s been happening for a while. 

  


◁ _Hey, if you’re free I’d love to fly in early and catch up_

**changkyun** ▶︎ _Sounds good!_

“Hey,” Changkyun says when Wonwoo arrives, “the season you’re having, th—“ 

“Did you break up with me because of Soonyoung?” 

Changkyun’s eyes go wide. “Okay,” he says, and ruffles his hair. “I mean, yeah, Wonwoo, I figured you knew that.” 

Without hesitating, Wonwoo groans, and covers his eyes, and walks into the apartment. “Sorry, sorry, I know that’s probably not what you had in mind when I said let’s catch up…” 

“Not really, no, but…” Changkyun follows as Wonwoo plops down at his kitchen table. “I am kind of shocked it’s taken you this long to ask that.” 

“God. You must think I’m a fucking idiot.” He pauses. “And an asshole. Jesus.” 

Changkyun shakes his head. “I don’t. I...never did, really.” At Wonwoo’s skeptical glare, he doubles down. “I’m serious. It wasn’t...I never _blamed_ you. And we were good, for awhile, yeah?” 

Wonwoo nods. Then he frowns. “I did love you.” 

Bizarrely, Changkyun laughs. “I believe you. You can love someone and still…” He looks down, and smiles sadly. “I was never gonna be what he was to you.” 

A terrible thought crosses his mind. “You didn’t...like, retire because we broke up, right?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Changkyun leans back in his chair. “What’s got you in your Soonyoung feelings, anyway? He come begging for forgiveness when you started beating him?” 

Wonwoo looks away. “Something like that.” 

  


**soonyoung** ▶︎ _i’m outside let me in!_

◁ _Sorry Soonie I’m not home I flew out early_

**soonyoung** ▶︎ _i know silly i mean your hotel room_

Oh? He fumbles for his room remote and opens the door, and Soonyoung comes bouncing in, and takes off his shoes. 

“I just got in and I heard someone in the lobby say you were here. I may have flirted with the reception girl to find out your room number.” He flops down into bed with Wonwoo. “Forgive me?” Wonwoo just smiles—kind of half heartedly. He’s exhausted, for one thing, and still thinking about his conversation with Changkyun. “You’re tired,” Soonyoung murmurs, pouting a little and cupping Wonwoo’s chin. Wonwoo nods. “Too tired?” 

Leave it to Soonyoung. It’s endearing, really. “For your usual amount of enthusiasm?” He blows out a puff of air, considering. “Probably.” Soonyoung smiles. “C’mere anyway, though.” 

Soonyoung kisses him. It should worry him, he thinks, how Soonyoung can melt away all his other thoughts with just one kiss. But Wonwoo pulls his body close anyway, and they kiss lazily like that for a while. Wonwoo grins against Soonyoung’s mouth, and moves one knee forward to press into Soonyoung’s crotch. Soonyoung gives a tiny intake of breath. “Cocktease,” he says, and nips at Wonwoo’s bottom lip. 

“Maybe.” 

Rolling his eyes, Soonyoung kisses him one more time and then settles next to him. “Well, save it. Believe it or not I don’t rely on your magic cock to keep me alive.” 

Wonwoo smirks. “You expect me to believe that with the way you beg for it?” 

“No fair,” Soonyoung says sternly. “Dirty talk with no intention of payoff is a no-no. Even if it’s halfway a joke.” 

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo agrees, letting Soonyoung throw an arm over his waist. “Why are you here early, anyway?” 

“Mid-day talk show. Then I’m filming a shoe endorsement.” 

“All that the day before the race?” 

“Yujin’s always got me doing stuff like this once the season gets going.” His manager. “She keeps me hopping. Your people don’t get you gigs like that?” 

They do, just not as many. “I mean, sometimes. Nothing like your stuff. What was that bogus energy drink you promoted last year? Turbo...astro...something or other?” 

Soonyoung cackles. “ _Galactoboost,_ and it wasn’t bogus.” 

“Oh, trust me, it was bogus, I tried it.” 

“ _You_ are an outlier, you have some rare condition where you only have energy for sex.” 

“I don’t hear you complaining.” There’s a lull, where it’s quiet. Something Soonyoung said is sticking in Wonwoo’s ear. “‘Your people,’” he murmurs. Soonyoung makes a curious little noise. “You asked if _my people_ got me gigs.” 

He glances up, and Soonyoung looks the tiniest shade of uncomfortable. After a second he slips his hand into Wonwoo’s. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

And Wonwoo knows he didn’t. But still. “I know.” Wonwoo yawns, just then, and they both laugh, dissolving most of the tension. 

Soonyoung gathers Wonwoo against him and strokes his hair. “You _are_ tired.” They relax a little again. “Why’d you come early?” 

His fingers are still moving through Wonwoo’s hair. It feels so nice. Wonwoo can feel himself drifting off. “Met up with Changkyun,” he sighs. 

Soonyoung’s fingers freeze. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Did...you have a nice visit?” 

“Mhm. Just catching up.” 

“Oh,” Soonyoung says again, quieter. Wonwoo’s seconds from sleep. “That’s nice.” 

The shift it causes when Soonyoung gets out of bed is what wakes Wonwoo up. He doesn’t say anything, at first, just watches him sneak quietly over to where his shoes are and put them on. When he turns back and sees Wonwoo’s awake, he freezes. “Morning,” he says. 

“You’re leaving?” Wonwoo asks through a yawn. 

“Yeah. Busy schedule today, remember?” He smiles, tight lipped. 

Wonwoo’s brow furrows. “Wait,” he says. “Come here.” Soonyoung looks uncomfortable, but does what Wonwoo says. “Are you okay?” 

It’s the closed off, distant Soonyoung who doesn’t want things to get real who answers. “Of course. Just need to get going.” He kisses Wonwoo on the cheek, and turns again. Wonwoo springs out of bed and gently takes his hand. It gets Soonyoung to turn, but he sighs in exasperation. “What.” 

This isn’t right. Wonwoo wracks his brain for anything he could have done wrong. “Please tell me what’s the matter.” 

“I don’t have time—” 

“Soonyoung.” 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, and chews the inside of his cheek. “It’s stupid, okay?” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

So Soonyoung finally looks him in the eyes—terrified, which Wonwoo hates. “I feel super weird about you visiting Changkyun,” he whispers. 

That’s...not what Wonwoo expected. Why in the _universe_ would Soonyoung be worried about that? His eyebrows raise. “What?” 

Soonyoung huffs. “It’s not even—I don’t _care_ that you visited him, it isn’t anything like that, you are completely free to visit whoever you want, I just—feel—weird.” 

Tilting his head, Wonwoo squints. “...Jealous?” 

“Ugh. No.” 

“Because,” Wonwoo says, placing his hands on Soonyoung’s cheeks. “ _If,_ hypothetically, you did feel jealous, I would tell you that it’s okay to feel that way, but there’s no reason to, because Changkyun and I just talked.” 

Soonyoung pouts. “Yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

It gets Soonyoung to relax a little, smiling sheepishly. “I really do have to go,” he says. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. “I mean...unless you blow it off.” 

Soonyoung laughs. “I wish.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo asks, and Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. “I’m serious. Fake sick, or something. Have them send Hyunjoon. Stay with me today.” 

After a moment, Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle, and a hint of a smile crosses his features. “I shouldn’t. I’ve never missed an appearance.” 

“All the more reason?” Wonwoo laughs. He pulls Soonyoung close, then, and watches him try to stifle the way his smile grows. “Come on, golden boy,” he says into Soonyoung’s ear. “You know you’ll have more fun with me.” 

“I _really_ shouldn’t.” 

“You really should. One day in six years can’t hurt, Soonie.” If Wonwoo knows the nickname will help wear Soonyoung down and uses it strategically, well, he thinks he’ll manage to sleep alright. “ _Please?_ For me?” 

Soonyoung is laughing. “You’re absolutely impossible, Jeon Wonwoo.” He sighs. “But yeah, alright.” 

Wow? He didn’t think it would _work._ “Really?” Soonyoung nods. “Okay, well—I didn’t think you’d say yes, I don’t want you to get in trouble or—” 

“Too late!” Soonyoung announces, dropping his bag and kicking his shoes off again. “I’m committed, now. Fuck it. You’re just gonna have to make it worth my while.” 

The definition of ‘worth Soonyoung’s while’ ends up being about as explicit as expected, but Wonwoo really doesn’t mind—he’s not sure if it’s the thrill of getting out of his schedules that’s doing it, but Soonyoung is in _rare_ form. When Wonwoo lifts him up to fuck him against the window of his room, he can’t seem to shut up, holding Wonwoo’s face close and sighing out _more_ and _harder_ and _please_ and _right there,_ getting more and more desperate until finally he moans “That feels so fucking good, baby,” and Wonwoo falters, then freezes. 

Wonwoo stares, still panting, as Soonyoung gives him this confused little pout. “...Did you just call me _baby?”_

A nod, hesitant at first, then firmer. “Is that okay?” 

Wonwoo practically growls and spins them around, throwing Soonyoung on the bed. They make eye contact, and smile, and Soonyoung laughs just a tiny bit and pulls Wonwoo down to kiss him before Wonwoo remembers he got called _baby_ and loses his absolute _mind_ fucking Soonyoung into the mattress. 

  


“Jihoon knows,” Wonwoo murmurs later when Soonyoung’s laying in his arms. 

The only reaction Soonyoung gives is a soft sigh. “I think my team knows too, but Seokmin’s afraid I’ll get mad if he says anything and—Junhui’s been begging me to get laid for god knows how long and I think he thinks if he called me out I’d stop.” 

“Would you?” 

Soonyoung places a kiss on Wonwoo’s chest. “No.” 

Warmth swells up inside Wonwoo, filling his chest and his stomach and making him feel lighter than air. 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says. “What did you and Changkyun talk about?” 

For a second, Wonwoo considers lying, but he’s starting to not see the point. “You,” he says. 

“Me?” Soonyoung giggles against his chest. “What in the world were you talking about me for?” 

That one, Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Instead they lay there in silence for a long time, Wonwoo trailing one hand up and down Soonyoung’s back. “I’m happy, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo finds himself saying suddenly. He’s not sure where it came from, even—he just felt the need to say it, and out it came. “This makes me happy.” 

And it takes a bit, but eventually Soonyoung answers. “Me too,” he says. “All of it.” There’s another short pause before he continues. “Not just the sex.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wonwoo tries to feel complimented by that, but the first and only thought that comes to mind is: 

This is going to end so, so badly. 

But it isn’t ending yet, at least. 

As Soonyoung’s leaving, he hesitates. “You know...this is my first day off in years. The first time I’ve ever _lied_ to get out of anything...the...the first time I’ve been willing to put something ahead of work since I don’t know when.” Can Wonwoo read into how much more easily Soonyoung is sharing this stuff with him? He tries not to, just to be safe. “I do not do it lightly,” Soonyoung finishes. 

“Lucky me,” Wonwoo murmurs. 

Soonyoung kisses him goodbye, but before he lets the door close behind him, he lingers. “Wonwoo. It isn’t luck.” Wonwoo cocks his head to one side. “It _is_ you.” 

The door closes. 

  


— — —

  


After that, Soonyoung starts missing more events. 

He sneaks away from them—yeah, sometimes to fuck Wonwoo, but other times they just crowd into each other’s space and kiss, nothing more. _Other_ times, Soonyoung begs out of appearances just to call Wonwoo and talk, sick of being around people he doesn’t care about. Or he’ll find him in his hotel just to cuddle, just to _be_ together. It’s just more, and around then is when Wonwoo starts worrying less about being caught on the bad side of a one-sided...whatever this is. 

Once, he’d thought _this is just like old times,_ when he and Soonyoung had just been snuggled up on the sofa watching tv together. But it wasn’t, was it? For one thing, old times had had 100% less sexual activity, but it isn’t only that. Old times had been pre-drama, pre-falling out, pre-arguments and shit talking and snark, but the Wonwoo of old times had wrapped up his feelings and locked them in a box and shoved it as far out of sight as it could go, because Soonyoung made no move toward revealing his own. 

_Now,_ even though neither of them have said it out loud—what they mean to each other, what this means to either of them—it just feels...more complete? More real? Less like they’re holding back. More like they’ve moved forward, despite dancing around the issues they still haven’t talked about. But Wonwoo’s happy. Things are unclear, and unconfirmed, and unaddressed—but god, Wonwoo’s not terrified of his own feelings anymore, and he gets to kiss Soonyoung _almost_ as much as he wants, so he thinks maybe he’d take this over _old times_ a thousand times over. 

On the other hand, he _is_ still terrified of scaring Soonyoung away—terrified of telling him, because he’d told him once before and it had ruined everything—so maybe it is exactly like old times after all. 

He’s been placing consistently on the podium ever since his first win, but the races have faded into the background, acting primarily as the thing he has to do every now and then before he can get back to Soonyoung. He’s not naive enough to think Soonyoung feels the same in that regard, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling it. Jihoon is beside himself at the distraction Wonwoo shows, but he keeps placing top three, so what can he say, really? 

Between races, Wonwoo has taken to letting himself into Soonyoung’s apartment—they’d given each other their passcodes ages ago, but it’s only recently they’re brave enough to use them, to show up unannounced. If Soonyoung is there, they chat, or have dinner, and then do other things most of the time; if he’s not, Wonwoo waits, sends him stupid texts or goofy pictures to pass the time. 

Tonight, though, Soonyoung is asleep, because it’s after midnight. Wonwoo tries not to wake him, but he stirs anyway. “Mm, hi,” he murmurs, half asleep. 

“Hi. Sorry,” Wonwoo whispers back, climbing into bed next to him. 

“Is this a booty call?” 

“Not yet.” 

Soonyoung snorts, and Wonwoo lets him pull him against his chest, and soon they’re both asleep again. 

In the morning, they wake up facing each other. Soonyoung’s eyes move over Wonwoo slowly, drinking him in—it makes Wonwoo want to hide. Times like this Wonwoo thinks if Soonyoung looked just a little harder he’d see everything Wonwoo’s been trying to keep hidden away. Sleep is still clouding his mind, but he reaches up to drag his thumb across Soonyoung’s bottom lip before kissing him. 

They kiss for a long time, slow and still tired. Soonyoung keeps running a hand up and down Wonwoo’s arm as their lips move against each other. Without speaking, they can tell what the other wants—they’ve been doing this for months, after all, they’re attuned to each other enough to just _know._ So when Soonyoung sighs into Wonwoo’s mouth and drags a hand down his chest, Wonwoo knows; and when Wonwoo taps at Soonyoung’s hip, Soonyoung knows too, and sleepily rolls over, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. The tiny sound Soonyoung makes when Wonwoo is digging through the nightstand drawer for lube means hurry _up,_ and the way Soonyoung already has his face pressed into the pillow means _seriously,_ hurry _up_ you asshole, and the hand Wonwoo places on the small of his back means okay, it’s alright, I’ve got you, _brat._

It means other things too, maybe, but Wonwoo doesn’t know if Soonyoung knows that much. 

Wonwoo slides inside Soonyoung easily, their bodies used to each other—Soonyoung exhales hard and hides his face in the pillow again, and Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut, because used to each other doesn’t mean it’s any less staggering that this is something they _do_ now. Wonwoo moves as slow as he can manage, and everything stays quiet and intense and breathy until Soonyoung whimpers and lifts his head and starts to push back to meet Wonwoo’s thrusts. The sight makes Wonwoo groan and his movements get slightly faster as he starts to lose the will to keep holding back. 

He thinks he hears Soonyoung choke out a quiet curse, or it might have been a hitched, wordless little moan—either way, Wonwoo can tell from the way he’s clutching at the sheets that he’s getting close. Wonwoo regrets not doing it face to face, a little—he loves watching Soonyoung like this. Although, the way Soonyoung drops his head again and whines softly when one of his hands has disappeared from Wonwoo’s view so he can touch himself, the way the muscles in Soonyoung’s back twitch and flex under Wonwoo’s hands—that kind of makes up for it. Wonwoo watches in awe. “God, Soonyoung,” he breathes out. 

Soonyoung’s soft little noises get more frequent as he strokes his cock faster—then, finally, he gasps, and says Wonwoo’s name as he comes. Wonwoo feels delirious, sleep and sex clouding his brain, and he guesses that’s how his own orgasm manages to sneak up on him—he groans, breathy and desperate, fucking Soonyoung harder and gripping his hips tight enough to leave marks. He hears Soonyoung whimper quietly through his nose as Wonwoo presses into him one final time and then pulls out. 

He gets rid of the condom as Soonyoung cleans up, and then they flop down next to each other, exhausted. 

“Now I’ll never make it out of bed,” Wonwoo whines. He turns toward Soonyoung, pouting, his eyes already half shut with sleep again. 

Laughter bubbles out of Soonyoung immediately. “Wonwoo, oh my god. You are too cute like this.” He pinches Wonwoo’s cheek lightly. “Sleepy and whiny. Hair all curly and messed up everywhere...I absolutely love it.” 

Wow. He should wake Soonyoung up with fucking more often if this is the reaction it gets out of him. He wrinkles his nose as Soonyoung coos at him. 

“No no no, that’s extra unfair, that’s my favorite.” 

“What is?” 

Soonyoung closes his eyes for a second, and presses his face against the pillow like he’s embarrassed. “Your scrunchy face,” he says when he sheepishly reveals himself again. 

Wonwoo blinks. “My _what?”_

“When you wrinkle your nose up like that. You do it all the time.” 

“I do?” He never realized. 

“Yes,” Soonyoung sighs. “You do it four hundred times a day, at least. When you’re annoyed, when you don’t know what to say, when you’re thinking, when you’re laughing.” He sighs again, and pulls at the covers until he’s underneath them again. “I can’t believe you didn’t know.” 

These are the sorts of things Soonyoung does every now and then that make Wonwoo want to cry. Just small things, observations from the years they’ve been—the variety of things they’ve been. Things even he doesn’t realize about himself. 

But he can’t say that. “Didn’t know you paid that much attention to me,” he tries to joke. 

It makes the smile drop from Soonyoung’s face, though, and he turns to look at the ceiling. “You’ve done it ever since I’ve known you,” he says. A pause. “And I do pay attention to you.” 

“I know. I was only joking.” He puts an arm over Soonyoung’s waist. “You know I was just joking, right?” 

After a moment, Soonyoung grins. “Of course I do.” Wonwoo scrunches up his face, because now that he knows Soonyoung likes it he’s going to be doing it on purpose much more, and Soonyoung giggles, and scrunches his face up in return, leaning close and brushing his nose against Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo catches his face and kisses him, both of them laughing into it. 

When they break apart, Soonyoung laces his fingers between Wonwoo’s. “Do you know what they said in my interviews the other night? After the race?” He looks down and kisses Wonwoo’s knuckles. “After I lost?” 

Wonwoo shakes his head curiously. 

“That guy from channel 472. He said this is the least number one finishes I’ve ever had in a season. I hadn’t even realized.” Fear floods Wonwoo’s entire body, and it must show on his face. “Oh my god, Wonwoo, _relax._ What do you have to be looking like that about?” 

_Losing this. Losing you. You realizing what’s really important to you, and letting go of my hand._

“Nothing. How…how do you feel about that?” 

“You sound like the journalists.” Soonyoung snuggles closer to Wonwoo. “I don’t know. It’s weird. I think…” He bites his lip. “I think I care less than I should, but…it doesn’t feel _good.”_

That’s fair, Wonwoo thinks. Perfectly natural. He’d expected a lot worse. 

“But they’ve noticed I’m missing appearances. _That_ I don’t like.” 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. 

Soonyoung’s face loses its worry. He smiles softly. “Wonwoo. It’s not your—well, I mean, it’s somewhat your fault, I guess,” he giggles. “I just need to be...a little more...focused, for a bit. The series is almost over, after all.” 

The urge to squeeze Soonyoung’s hand and ask _then what,_ to get down on his knees and beg him to tell him what they’ll be when the off-season starts threatens to turn Wonwoo inside out. 

“I’ll try not to be so irresistible,” he says instead. 

As Soonyoung rolls his eyes fondly, Wonwoo thinks he’d settle for not being such a coward. 

  


Here’s the thing: the problem with a storyline like theirs is there’s really only so far it can go once it peaks. Eventually, people are just waiting to see how it ends. The nail-biting, heart-stopping drama from those first few races Wonwoo won can’t last; the two of them trading first place back and forth loses its intrigue fairly quickly. Of course, Wonwoo is still signing autographs and being told to kick Soonyoung’s ass at every turn—because they’re still top of the pack, after all. But while individual fans may stick around and be invested in _them,_ as a whole this business moves much faster than that. They can give soundbites to the media to keep things fresh, but the less appearances they do, the less opportunity there is. 

Wonwoo has tons of appearance offers, still, because this is the best he’s ever been, with or without Soonyoung’s half of his story. But Soonyoung, well...this is the worst he’s been, and the offers he does get, he’s ducking out of or half assing—and his poker face is getting worse. 

It doesn’t even seem like Soonyoung notices. Wonwoo notices, though, and it twists his stomach up in knots—he hadn’t meant for this. He’d wanted to win, and now he has, and winning the series would be incredible, but if there’s a chance this means that once Soonyoung realizes what’s going on he walks away from what he and Wonwoo have...Wonwoo isn’t sure winning is worth that. And that’s a terrible thing to realize, because he knows even if Soonyoung has an inkling of how he feels, he has no idea how deep things have gone for Wonwoo—and Wonwoo knows from experience that when faced with the choice between Wonwoo or winning, Soonyoung has not historically ruled in his favor. 

It hurts to think about, so Wonwoo tries not to. But it’s getting harder, and he’s starting to think it’s only a matter of time. Because while Soonyoung is distracted by Wonwoo, others have seen an opening and are scrambling to fill it. 

Jacob’s being pushed as this rags to riches, boy next door success story after making it through the top ten. Gyuri’s an independent driver who’s been consistently placing middle of the pack, which leaves room for her to skyrocket in the last half of the series. Minghao had had to sit out most of the last series after his crash; Phoenix Inc. is the smallest racing company at the Cup this year but they’ve got two drivers in the top ten; Chan’s got one of the best independent track records in the last decade or more; Hyunjoon is generating massive buzz after his win—what makes any of those things less compelling than _things between best-friends-turned-rivals Kwon and Jeon come to a head and then immediately fizzle out?_

It’s when Hyunjoon gets announced after a race as _Prismatech’s new racing assassin_ that Wonwoo watches Soonyoung’s face, glowing with pride before, fall just a bit: eyebrows twitching in confusion, barely noticeable, only for a second, but a second is enough when Wonwoo is constantly watching him. He tries to tell himself it isn’t the beginning of the end, but it’s certainly the beginning of something. 

Soonyoung is quiet when Wonwoo lets himself into his hotel room, staring at the tv. “Hey, look at this,” he murmurs without turning to him. 

Now that they’re down to the top nine, consultants are putting in their final predictions, and this one has bumped Soonyoung out of first place. She’s the first to do so, and Soonyoung’s staring at the screen, where **_1\. JEON WONWOO_** stares back. His adam’s apple moves as he swallows too hard to be subtle. Wonwoo leans over and kisses his cheek, then drapes his arms around him, chin digging into his shoulder. “You know that doesn’t mean anything.” 

Soonyoung laughs. “She hasn’t predicted a final top five wrong in probably ten years. There’s a reason she’s an _expert._ ” Wonwoo makes a small noise of disagreement, and then Soonyoung turns toward him. “And you don’t have to say that. I know you want to win, you don’t have to worry about my _feelings._ I can handle it. You’re having an incredible season, it’s not like I didn’t expect this at some point.” 

Too much, all at once, and much too defensive. Wonwoo hates it. “I do want to win. But I think...I can also be happy if you win? Isn’t that what made you kiss me?” 

The memory makes Soonyoung smile softly. He sighs. “You’re right. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, Soonie. I just don’t want that to get you down.” He nudges his shoulder. “If anything, it had better make you race even harder.” 

“Don’t forget you said that when I beat you,” Soonyoung says lightly. He arches an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid of you, Jeon.” 

Wonwoo forces himself to smile back, even though he certainly can’t say the same about Soonyoung. 

  


— — —

  


They don’t talk about it, but Soonyoung quietly spends more time making sure he’s where he’s supposed to be. He goes back to trashing Wonwoo in the press—but Wonwoo doesn’t mind that, because he knows Soonyoung just wants to do well, be great. Wonwoo can’t begrudge him that, and Soonyoung makes it up to him in spades when he does come around. He’s sweeter, touchier, more insistent on making Wonwoo the focus of his private time when he has to focus on pretending to hate him in public. 

He asks to do Wonwoo up in his makeup one day when they’re lounging in his bedroom. Wonwoo laughs, but agrees, because he’d let Soonyoung do just about anything. “It’s not fair you walk around with this bone structure and don’t even know what a blessing it is, Wonwoo. Stop _moving,_ ” he says, as he’s trying to line Wonwoo’s eyes. “Do you have any idea how long it takes me to look like I have cheekbones?” 

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose and pouts, not used to the feeling of someone coloring on his eyelid. “I like your cheeks.” 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He finishes Wonwoo’s eyeliner and sits back to look at his work, tilting his head. “Have I told you I think you’re beautiful?” 

He _certainly_ has not. Wonwoo figures his mouth must be hanging open, but he can’t help it. Even before all this, that wasn’t really a line they ever crossed. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head. Soonyoung just rubs some shiny powder onto Wonwoo’s cheeks with his middle finger. “I do,” he says, without looking up this time. “You are. Way before the makeup.” 

Thinking he’s probably on the verge of either passing out or saying something embarrassing, Wonwoo bites his tongue. He wants to return the compliment, but he’s not sure he can stop if he gets started. Still, he watches Soonyoung’s eyebrows lower in concentration and feels so much affection he could burst. He swallows. “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Wonwoo says softly. 

It’s funny that _this_ is apparently what they’re shy about—Wonwoo doesn’t miss the way Soonyoung’s ears go red and he smiles just a little. There’s a bittersweetness to it, though. “I don’t know about _that,_ ” Soonyoung says. 

“I mean it.” 

“Please. I’m hardly anything special.” 

Wonwoo’s brow furrows and he reaches to lift Soonyoung’s chin and make him look at him. “You _are._ ” 

Unable to hold back a bashful grin this time, Soonyoung leans in to give Wonwoo a slow kiss, then pulls back. As he tries to go back to Wonwoo’s makeup, though, Wonwoo gently takes him by the wrists and kisses him again. “Hey,” Soonyoung mumbles. “I wasn’t done.” 

“Tell me again,” Wonwoo whispers, moving all the makeup out of Soonyoung’s lap so he can take its place there. 

One of Soonyoung’s hands finds its way into the curls of Wonwoo’s hair, then trails down his jaw, the side of his neck, down over his chest. “You’re beautiful.” 

Wonwoo feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs. He takes a breath to try to steady himself, but only feels dizzier. “And you’re perfect, Kwon Soonyoung.” 

Soonyoung pulls him down for a kiss and Wonwoo rolls his hips slowly, pressing forward and down against Soonyoung so he can forget everything he’s been trying desperately not to think about over the past week or so, when he’s had less of Soonyoung. It doesn’t even seem to matter now, not when Soonyoung is this close to him and mouthing at his neck and running his hands up under his shirt. If he tries hard enough, Wonwoo can isolate the hot, desperate feeling of Soonyoung’s fingers and his lips until the two of them are all that exist, and they don’t have a past that aches to think about or a future so uncertain it stings. If he tries hard enough, he can filter out all the bullshit and zero in on what actually matters: Soonyoung’s hips pressing up against his as he moves, Soonyoung hiding his face against Wonwoo’s collarbone, Soonyoung panting out “I swear to god, baby, you’re so fucking gorgeous it drives me insane, you have no _idea—_ ” 

He cuts himself off with a whimper and Wonwoo keeps grinding against him, unable to help himself. He bunches up a fistful of Soonyoung’s shirt in his hand and tries to slow down, but he can’t—it feels too good, and Soonyoung is still babbling about how pretty he is like this, and even without any of that, Wonwoo has always, always been completely powerless when it comes to this boy—so he just gives in to it, like he always does. 

  


“I’m still here, you know,” Soonyoung says after, when they’ve laid down facing each other. Wonwoo laughs a bit in confusion, and moves closer, their noses brushing as he does. 

“What?” 

Soonyoung pets his hair. “You do this thing where you try not to finish. Like you think I’ll disappear when we’re done.” He says it so casually, just an observation, but Wonwoo has to try his best not to let his face fall suspiciously, and doesn’t think he succeeds. “And it’s very cute, but you really don’t need to.” It’s so _frustrating,_ to be read so easily by someone whose emotions Wonwoo struggles to make heads or tails of. Soonyoung seems to sense his discomfort—further frustration. “You don’t have to make one time last forever, is all I’m saying. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Wonwoo feels tears prickling the backs of his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. “Good,” he says tightly, and huffs out a breath to try and regain some composure. Soonyoung’s smiling softly at him, eyes roaming over his face, looking so fond it hurts. “Stay,” Wonwoo whispers—it’s everything he has, that word, everything he can ask for and everything he wants. Soonyoung holds Wonwoo’s face in his hands, beaming, and kisses him. Wonwoo can feel his smile, and kind of ends up with more teeth than lips, but he doesn’t care. 

When they pull away, god, Soonyoung is still looking at him so fond, but there’s _more_ —it’s familiar. Soonyoung has looked at him this way before. Wonwoo feels like he’s just been shoved off a hundred story building. 

It comes out without Wonwoo meaning to say it. “Is this something?” He gasps and exhales after he’s said it, instantly wishing he could suck it back into his lungs and make Soonyoung forget he ever heard it. 

But he did hear it. Soonyoung doesn’t look away, but he sighs. 

No turning back now, Wonwoo guesses. “It’s the vaguest possible thing I can _ask,_ Soonyoung.” 

That makes Soonyoung laugh. He just keeps looking at Wonwoo, though, which is making Wonwoo crazy. 

He sits up. “Am I a fling,” he asks quietly. Soonyoung’s eyebrows knit together as he looks up at him, and then he shakes his head. 

“Of course not. You’re Wonwoo.” A moment passes, and then he sits up as well. “You really needed to _ask?”_ Wonwoo shrugs, and nods. “I’m not running off to someone else, Wonwoo. I just told you, that’s—that’s not what this is for me.” 

“I just can’t help but wonder if this is how it’s been with...with the others. So if that’s not what it is, then—what is it?” 

Soonyoung slumps. “The others,” he repeats faintly. “Right.” He takes an unsteady breath. “Wonwoo, I—when—” He can’t seem to decide what he’s trying to say. Wonwoo feels guilty for making him, even though he knows he doesn’t need to. Soonyoung looks at him again, determined and terrified. When he speaks his voice shakes. “There’s no ‘others,’ Wonwoo, don’t you know that?” 

Wonwoo blinks. “What?” he asks, feeling like his voice is suddenly far too loud. 

“It’s all bullshit, Wonwoo, all these _flings_ I have, none of it is _true._ ” Wonwoo blinks again, then he sighs. 

He’s a fucking idiot, isn’t he? Always wondering why Soonyoung changed from flirty social butterfly to...Wonwoo hesitates to even think any of the words the tabloids have used, especially now. Because he’s a fucking _idiot._ “Fucking hell, Soonyoung…” he says, apologetic. _I should have known, I’m sorry I didn’t know._

“And that first time, with you...that was...I’d only…” Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his forehead. “I’d only even done it once before, so if you’re really wanting to _compare—_ ” 

“Hang on, Soonyoung, what?” 

But he’s looking away again. “I know how it sounds, I know with...everything...it’s…but it’s true, they told me it was marketable, you know, to be _flirty_ and _sexy_ and then...things got out of hand, a little, and now there’s...this.” Wonwoo’s just staring, because this is a nuke that’s just been dropped on him and he doesn’t know what to say. “But it’s true. Okay? Don’t make a thing out of it.” 

Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m not. I’m not making a thing.” The room goes dead quiet. Soonyoung keeps fidgeting. “You didn’t say anything.” 

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. “Yeah, well, a lot of confusing things happened really fast that night,” he mutters. 

“I could have hurt you, idiot.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t.” 

Still dumbfounded, Wonwoo tries his best to wrap his mind around this. “...Just once.” 

“Just once.” 

“Just once, and then me.” 

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” 

Finally, Soonyoung looks up at him. “Don’t say it like it’s a big deal, or something. We’ve done it a billion times since then, don’t get hung up on it.” But Wonwoo feels very much hung up on it, and Soonyoung can tell. “Look. It was just...just a guy from an app, a while ago. It got to the point I just wanted it over with, but there wasn’t…there wasn’t anyone I...” He trails off. “But it wasn’t great, and I didn’t see it going much better with any of the people I did _other_ stuff with, so.” 

It’s clearly making Soonyoung uncomfortable to talk about, but Wonwoo’s still got questions he needs answered. “So why...me, then?” Soonyoung’s ears turn red. “Soonyoung, we had just spent five years hating each other? Why _me?”_

Soonyoung drops his face into his hands. “Wonwoo, please. I just wanted to tell you so you’d know, and maybe you wouldn’t feel like I was halfway out the door and onto the next—I _hate_ that you think that, and I don’t want you to feel that way. I—I’m trying, Wonwoo. I’m horrible at this and I know it but I _am_ trying.” 

That’s all very unclear, and confusing, and Wonwoo thinks he knows how it _could_ be interpreted but he can’t bring himself to believe that. And Soonyoung looks terrified, so Wonwoo sighs, and takes his face in his hands and kisses his forehead. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. But that’s...a lot, Soonyoung, and I want to talk about it at some point. Soon. I want to...talk about a lot of things,” he finishes, biting his lip nervously. 

Soonyoung nods. “Yeah. I...I know.” He takes Wonwoo’s hand, but doesn’t say anything else, and Wonwoo realizes with an absolutely crushing wave of sadness that they aren’t going to last much longer this way. 

  


They barely see each other between then and the next race. The morning before, though, Wonwoo walks out into Soonyoung’s kitchen to find Soonyoung at his table, drinking coffee and staring into space. He glances up when he sees Wonwoo. “I’ve been thinking,” he says. 

“About?” 

“Everything,” he says, cryptically. Wonwoo sits down, and waits, unaware of how the cozy bubble they’ve been floating in is about to burst. “How seriously did you date Minghao?” 

Wonwoo shrugs. “Not very. Somewhat, I guess? He was the first person I really _dated,_ or whatever.” 

Soonyoung hums. “What about Changkyun,” he says. That gets Wonwoo worried—the question itself, and the casual way Soonyoung asks it. “How serious was he?” 

“Serious.” 

“You loved him?” 

This is so, so weird. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I did.” 

The sound of Soonyoung drumming his fingers on the side of his coffee cup is all that fills the next few minutes of silence. Wonwoo sits with his heart in his throat and waits, because that can’t be all Soonyoung has to say. 

He still doesn’t expect what he hears. 

“How serious am I?” 

Wonwoo actually laughs. It makes Soonyoung recoil, which is ridiculous, and only makes the whole thing more unbelievable. “You don’t think maybe you’re asking the wrong side of the table?” Wonwoo asks incredulously. 

Soonyoung’s mouth opens slowly—he’s clearly realized his mistake, but this—this has completely sent Wonwoo off the rails. How is _this_ how this is happening. 

“Soonyoung, I can’t—what makes you think I can tell you how serious this is? I can tell you how serious I am, if you want, I’ve been holding off on that but if you really want to know…” He’s being too loud, and Soonyoung’s being too quiet. When there’s no response, Wonwoo huffs out another laugh. “Sure. Why not.” He takes a breath. “Soonyoung...I have tried so, so hard not to completely fall for you again, just in case, because I can’t fucking read you, and I never know what you’re thinking, and you telling me how you actually _feel_ is just—out of the fucking question, apparently—but I’ve done an awful job of it, because you’re _you._ And we—" He leans forward. "We are nearing the point of no return,” he says as clearly as he can. 

Silence. Soonyoung blinks, dazed, looking shellshocked. “Again?” he asks eventually, this shattered little whisper that would have broken Wonwoo’s heart in most other circumstances. But it’s been too long holding this in, and Soonyoung went and got him started, and now he can’t stop. 

“I’m not a fling. That’s great. Can you tell me what the fuck I _am?”_ Wonwoo waits, but Soonyoung’s lip just quivers in response. “Everything you say, everything you do confuses me more. I know you care about me, but that’s all. I don’t know where I stand. I’m—I’m as serious as you’ll let me be. I have no idea about how serious _you_ are.” 

By this time, Soonyoung is crying silently, tears leaving sparkling trails down his cheeks. “You never said how you feel either,” he mumbles, and Wonwoo laughs again, and it makes Soonyoung wince again. 

This is his breaking point, apparently. 

“ _Fuck_ you I haven’t. I tried, or have you completely managed to repress that memory? Some of us haven’t been so lucky,” he spits. Soonyoung looks away, breathing harder. “I get it, Soonyoung—like—fuck your cake and eat it too, right? Ideal situation! Forget all the things you did wrong and just get laid instead!” He’s being harsh, now. It’s as much his fault as Soonyoung’s, he knows—he could have insisted they do this long before now. But he didn’t. “But I just don’t think—no. I _can’t_ pretend our shit didn’t happen anymore. I never wanted to in the first place, but I wanted _you,_ so I did it. But I can’t do it anymore. I—” He stands up, and crosses to where Soonyoung sits, kneeling in front of him to gently hold his face between his palms. Soonyoung looks down at him, expression ruined. “I care about you so much,” he continues, softer, almost pleading. “But we can’t move forward if we ignore our past. There’s too much, and it’s—it’s you and me. It’s too much to ignore. It’s too important to ignore.” 

Soonyoung still can’t respond, just takes a gasping breath, before he starts crying harder, pushing Wonwoo’s hands away and hiding his face. Wonwoo’s face goes blank, and he stands again. “Call me when you get your shit together,” he says, gathering his things from where he’d left them. “Or not! I guess we can always go back to hating each other, if that’s easier for you,” he calls from across the apartment, and then strides toward the door. 

“Wonwoo,” he thinks he hears, just as the door slides closed behind him—but he doesn’t turn around. 

  


Wonwoo wins the race, anger and heartbreak in his fuel tank. He wants to shove the trophy back into the announcer's hands, tell him he’s tired of platinum and its cold, metallic shine, scream that he needs something colorful and warm and living—but he smiles, and he waves, and he signs his name for children, takes pictures with teenage girls, swears to journalists that his eye is on winning the final, no matter who’s in his way. He does it all on autopilot and disappears into the garage complex as fast as he can. They’ve got the tv on in the waiting room he ducks into, and Soonyoung’s giving interviews onscreen, because of course he is. Wonwoo hasn’t seen him since yesterday, and he doesn’t know what he expected—but Soonyoung looks just like he always does, perfect makeup, blinding white smile. 

Until he doesn’t. He hasn’t been asked about Wonwoo in awhile, because they haven’t been getting much out of him—he’d just laugh, lately, act like it was nothing and it’d be all too easy to take him out if he _wanted_ —but everyone knew that wasn’t true, and the press got tired of it. Tonight, though, Wonwoo isn’t sure what it is, but they’ve decided he’s a worthy topic again, evidently. 

“What exactly is it that makes you hate Jeon Wonwoo so much?” someone off screen asks, and Soonyoung blinks. He licks his lips. 

“How do you mean?” 

“What did _he_ ever do to _you?_ As far as I see it, you left—wouldn’t you be upset if he did that to you?” 

It’s not the first time Soonyoung’s been asked this, Wonwoo’s sure. He’s seen Soonyoung field this question, witnessed the stupid answers and excuses and charming smiles and innocent shrugs. Your guess is as good as mine, he always says. But Wonwoo watches Soonyoung’s smile go from genuine to very, very obviously plastered on and forced with barely the movement of a muscle. “Shit,” he says helplessly to himself. It’s too much for Soonyoung to hear this now, be expected to talk about this _now,_ and Wonwoo can tell. 

He’s been quiet too long. “I…” he tries, but he can’t get anything out. Fuck. 

That next pause is enough for another reporter to interject. “Soonyoung, over here, any comment on the rumors about the two of you?” 

Wonwoo feels every pair of eyes in the room turn to him, but he’s watching Soonyoung—who blinks, and then his smile drops, and then he looks back and forth between the two journalists. “What rumors?” 

Yujin pushes in front of him then, and cuts the questions off. Soonyoung backs down off the platform, staring wide-eyed, looking around at the crowd of people around him—he’s looking for someone. He’s looking for Wonwoo. 

Fuck. Fuck. That’s going to play so badly. And also, _what fucking rumors?_

He does his best to ignore the stares of the other drivers and very suspiciously leaves the room and heads down the hall, pulling out his phone—his screen is covered in notifications, which can’t be good— 

**chan** ▶︎ _PLEASE CHECK YOUR PHONE_  
**chan** ▶︎ _DON’T DO ANYMORE INTERVIEWS TONIGHT!!!!!!!!!!_

**hyesung** ▶︎ _There’s an article. If it’s true just let me know and we’ll figure things out._  
**_hyesung sent a link_**

__

There’s really only one thing this can mean, and Wonwoo’s hands shake before he ever opens the link. 

_An anonymous source close to two Prisma Cup racers who *supposedly* hate each other says they’ve been seen coming and going from each other’s hotel rooms after almost every race this series_

Wonwoo locks his phone without finishing. A _blind item?_ What fucking century is it? 

He lets the stupidity of it infuriate him, instead of the fact that it is so, so obviously them. 

Letting out a breath through his nose, he starts walking again—his bag is still in the change room, but he’ll send Hansol after it, he can’t worry about that right now— 

Someone grabs his wrist. Not _someone,_ though; Wonwoo always said he could tell him just from the static charge between them. He stops, and turns. “Did you see,” Soonyoung asks, frantic. 

“Just now,” Wonwoo sighs. “What do we do. Tell me what you need me to do.” 

“I don’t—I don’t know,” Soonyoung whispers, looking behind him and then back at Wonwoo, grabbing him by the shoulders for stability. “If Prisma finds out—” 

“I know.” 

Wonwoo watches as Soonyoung’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do, I’m _sorry,_ ” he says. 

“I know,” Wonwoo says again. “But right now you need to go, because the last thing we need is to be seen like this.” 

The events of yesterday momentarily disappear, and Soonyoung just holds onto Wonwoo desperately. “ _Wonwoo,_ ” he says. 

They can’t be here, they can’t do this here. “Go, Soonyoung.” But he doesn’t. “We’ll...later, okay? Just...come see me when you can and we’ll figure it out. I swear. But you _have_ to go now.” 

Soonyoung still isn’t moving. Wonwoo reaches up and takes Soonyoung’s hands off his shoulders as Soonyoung shakes his head. “Later,” Wonwoo promises, and turns, and leaves Soonyoung in the corridor. 

When Wonwoo is back in his hotel room he tackles his messages. He thanks Chan for the warning, even if it was too late. He tells Hyesung they need to talk, which is basically an answer in the affirmative. He knows his siblings are going to be furious with him for not telling them, so he just tells them he’s sorry, and he’ll explain later. Jihoon has only made sure Wonwoo knows it wasn’t him who talked—which Wonwoo didn’t need to be told. 

He does wonder who this _source_ is, though it’s not the most pressing issue at the moment. 

The most pressing issue is that Wonwoo is supposed to be _angry_ at Soonyoung right now, and instead he’s worried sick, unable to sleep or focus on anything but a thousand possible outcomes of this scenario. It isn’t fair. Wonwoo has _earned_ having Soonyoung own up and explain things, and now it’s just going to get pushed aside _again_ for more god damn racing bullshit. Wonwoo isn’t sure he can take that, not again. 

When he gets home he locks himself in and doesn’t move. There’s no word from Soonyoung yet; he feels frozen in time waiting for him. People text and they call and Wonwoo stares blankly at his phone each time it’s not Soonyoung. He doesn’t eat—he tries, but after one bite he knows he won’t keep it down. He can’t sleep, can’t bear to turn on his tv for fear of what he knows will be there, so he just waits. It’s all he can do. 

It’s past sundown when his doorbell sounds, and he raises his head suspiciously. “Who is it,” he says, and his tv lights up with the hallway’s camera feed—his stupid hat isn’t covering his silver hair enough. Wonwoo gets up and opens the door. 

Soonyoung stares at him from behind his facemask, hesitating like he’s afraid he’ll be turned away. When he’s not, he shuffles in, removing the mask and the hat and the jacket. “Are you in trouble,” Wonwoo asks, quietly. Soonyoung just continues in. “Soonyoung—“ 

He whirls around. “Please don’t be nice to me right now,” he says. His eyes are red and swollen, and his voice is crackly and wet like he’s been crying very recently. He looks away, and walks toward Wonwoo’s kitchen, where he leans against the counter. “Everything is so fucked up.” 

“What _happened,_ ” Wonwoo pleads, following him. “Soonyoung—” 

“I _don’t_ hate you,” Soonyoung says. 

Wonwoo sighs. “I know that, Soonyoung. You don’t...you don’t have to worry about that, okay? I know you don’t hate me.” 

But Soonyoung’s shaking his head, looking to be holding back tears. He pushes himself up to perch on the countertop, and Wonwoo hurries over to stand in front of him and take his hands. “This isn’t fair to you. It isn’t _fair,_ ” he sniffles. 

“People think I hate you too,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. 

“But you’re the underdog—I’m the sore winner, I’m the greedy one who sold out and left his best friend behind. You...you really could hate me and it would be completely justified.” 

God. Wonwoo knew this would happen, but he can’t be angry, not with Soonyoung so pathetic like this. “I _don’t._ ” 

Another sniffle. “You should. You should hate me, for everything I’ve done. All the things I’ve said about you…” He trails off, his face contorting. A few tears slip out. “All the things I haven’t said...you should have hated me the second I left.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head, and looks up, sighing. He looks back down, and Soonyoung’s not looking at him, but that’s alright. “...I didn’t hate you, Soonyoung, you broke my heart.” 

If Soonyoung had been sad before, this must be Soonyoung wrecked, destroyed, completely taken apart beyond repair. He nods, squeezing his eyes shut in acknowledgment. Wonwoo doesn’t blink—he’s long suspected Soonyoung knew that. “I didn’t mean to,” he says. More tears escape when he opens his eyes. “I never meant for that, I—they wouldn’t let me contact anyone, I tried to tell you, they were so paranoid I was a mole, or something, I had to sign things—if I had known what would happen—” He shakes his head, and lets out a sob. “If I had known it would _break your heart…_ ” He trails off into sobs, then, his shoulders shaking. His hands raise to cover his face. 

Gingerly, Wonwoo wraps his arms around him. Soonyoung stiffens, but relaxes into it. “Shh,” Wonwoo says, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s alright.” 

“It isn’t,” Soonyoung says, and he looks up, face blotchy and red. “I’ve been terrible to you. As if leaving and then shit talking you all these years wasn’t enough, I had to go and start _this,_ without talking about it or acknowledging anything…” Wonwoo doesn’t argue, because it’s true. It really isn’t alright. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for not telling you. Fuck, all this _time_ we wasted. I should have told you so long ago,” he’s murmuring, and Wonwoo lets go of him, unwraps his arms from Soonyoung’s body. 

“...Told me what?” he says, not daring to let himself think, _is this it?_

Soonyoung swallows, and continues like he hasn’t heard. “It wasn’t true I haven’t ever told you how I feel, Wonwoo. I’ve tried my best, I swear I have.” 

Wonwoo just shakes his head, though, heart hammering. “Soonyoung,” he says firmly. “Told me _what.”_

He watches as Soonyoung bites his lip, and blinks more tears down his cheeks. “Wonwoo,” he says, and drops his face into his hands when his voice breaks. “That night on the roof…” 

At that, Wonwoo’s heart grinds to a halt. He breathes in and then out, shaky and loud, because this is it. All these years, countless interviews and endless confusion and all of it comes down to this, and now that it’s here, Wonwoo doesn’t know if he’s ready. 

“By the time I realized what I’d done...when I realized we weren’t even _friends_ anymore I just—I knew I’d ruined my chance and I wouldn’t—that there wouldn’t ever be—” 

This is nothing, so Wonwoo interrupts him. “Why did you act like nothing happened,” he asks, hating the way his own voice trembles. 

“I was afraid you’d be angry with me for taking the offer.” 

“Seriously, Soonyoung? My best friend?” Wonwoo’s close to tears now too. “You said you’d come back, why—” He has to stop, or he’ll break. He breathes for a moment. “Why didn’t you come back?” 

For what feels like ages, they’re silent, watching each other for any crack or fumble, but they’re both broken down so far it doesn’t matter. “What would you have said?” Soonyoung asks finally. “If I had come back? If I had stayed, what would you have said?” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Soonyoung,” he whispers, knowing they’re very close to crossing every line they’ve drawn. 

Soonyoung cups Wonwoo’s cheek. “I was scared, Wonwoo. I was terrified. Of what you said, and how fast things were changing, and how they were _going_ to change…” He drops his hand. “I was leaving and I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t think it would work if I went but I had to go, and I didn’t let you finish what you said so I talked myself out of even being sure what you _meant_ so can you please, _please_ just tell me?” He’s speaking barely above a whisper by the time he’s done. 

It takes Wonwoo a moment. He covers his mouth with one hand, then drags it down his face. He looks down. “...I would have…” he starts, shaky already, but he trails off. He has to dig all this up from where he’s buried it, so it takes a moment. “I would have told you that you are my best friend,” he starts again, only slightly steadier, “but thinking of you as my best friend isn’t enough because it doesn’t come close to everything you are to me.” He’s still looking down, staring at a spot on the counter. He clears his throat. “I would have told you I’ve never known anyone who understands me like you, who _knows_ me like you, who’s _wanted_ to know me—” It’s then he glances up, and Soonyoung’s watching him silently, expression still sad, but otherwise unreadable. “I would have told you you’re the person I trust most in the world—the person I care about most in the _world._ I would have—I would have told you you’re beautiful, and I would have apologized for not telling you every day since the first time I saw you, because you have always been the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. I would have—” Soonyoung’s biting his lip and breathing fast, trying not to sob again and ruin the moment. Wonwoo takes both of his hands, and holds eye contact with him. “I would have told you that I knew you wanted more than Hyesung could have given you then, and I knew about the offers, and I’d let you go as long as you didn’t go too far, or disappear, because none of this means _anything_ without you.” Tears have begun to stream down Soonyoung’s face again, and Wonwoo reaches up to wipe some of them, which only makes him cry harder. “I would have told you it’s you. And it’s _been_ you. And I’d do anything to make it work, I’d take you any way I could have you, even if it was just friends, or if I wasn’t sure what it meant. Even if I thought you’d never want me the same, and I was just a fling. Because it is _still_ you.” He shakes his head, and smiles. “You know it’s still you,” he whispers. 

As Soonyoung stares in disbelief, still crying silently, Wonwoo shrugs as if he hasn’t just bared his soul and his hands aren’t shaking. “...Except I was twenty, and I hadn’t spent all these years thinking about it, so it would have been way, way lamer than that.” Now it’s setting in that he _did_ just bare his soul, though, so he starts to ramble to fill the silence. “I mean, realistically, it would have been more like, uhhh, Soonyoung, you’re like really rad and stuff—” 

“ _Wonwoo,_ ” Soonyoung whispers through gritted teeth. Wonwoo shuts up, and watches Soonyoung press his lips into a tight line as his eyebrows knit together. “You’ve been thinking about that all this time?” 

“I’ve been going over how I could have changed that night since the second you let go of my hand.” 

Soonyoung nods, raising his eyebrows and rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. He lets out a breath that seems to relieve tension somewhere in him. “Me too,” he sighs. 

Wonwoo licks his lips. “When you said...you ruined your chance?” 

“How could I try with anyone else?” Soonyoung says, practically interrupting Wonwoo. “I couldn’t tell you what I felt and I left you behind and if I couldn’t keep from hurting _you_ of all people there was _no_ fucking hope for anyone else.” He just sounds exhausted, now, and Wonwoo feels it too. “And I didn’t _want_ anyone else. And now everything is just...everything is so...” 

This is still...just shy of what Wonwoo needs to hear. Soonyoung’s wringing his hands, looking terribly upset and unsure of what to do, so Wonwoo takes him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Yeah?” Soonyoung looks up, nervous. “Just...please, _please_ don’t get how you get, okay, don’t clam up, don’t worry about anything out there, don’t think about what we could have done different or what we should have done different—it’s just you and me right now, okay? Nothing else exists.” Carefully, Soonyoung nods, biting his lip. “Just tell me, Soonyoung, yes or no.” Wonwoo steels himself. “You felt the same. Back then.” 

Without taking his eyes off Wonwoo’s, Soonyoung nods again. “...I felt the same. I f—feel, I feel the same.” 

Wonwoo can feel his heartbeat thrumming behind his eyes. “You feel the same.” Soonyoung nods again, and Wonwoo’s knees threaten to give out. He huffs out a breath in disbelief. “I spent so long thinking I made everything up,” he murmurs. 

“You didn’t,” Soonyoung whispers, quiet in the wake of his admission. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s...it’s okay,” Wonwoo says. “I’m sorry too.” He’s in shock, he thinks. _This has all been so stupid,_ he thinks, too. 

He feels Soonyoung’s fingers nudging his, and looks down, and watches him link them together. Jesus, this is surreal. “Soonyoung,” he says, and he looks up into Soonyoung’s swollen, tear-stained, gorgeous face. He grins, and lets out a laugh. “How serious are you?” 

Soonyoung blows out a breath and puts his hands on either side of Wonwoo’s face. “It’s you and me, Wonwoo,” he whispers, and Wonwoo’s heart feels too big for his chest. “ _Always._ If I’ve ever been serious about _anything,_ it’s—” 

That’s as far as Wonwoo lets him get before he kisses him so hard their teeth clack. Immediately, Soonyoung lets out a sweet little sob into it, hooking his arms around Wonwoo’s neck. They’ve kissed before, but never like this, never like their lives depended on it—never knowing how they feel about each other—how they’ve felt about each other. It’s overdue, and being here, _finally,_ knowing how long it’s taken to get here, is altogether overwhelming. Wonwoo holds Soonyoung steady, because he feels fragile, suddenly, and then slides his mouth down to his neck. 

As soon as his mouth is no longer occupied, Soonyoung starts babbling: “I wouldn’t have gone, Wonwoo, I swear to fucking god, I know I should have realized how badly I was ruining everything but I didn’t, I’m—” 

“Shut up,” Wonwoo says, raising his head from where he’d been sucking at the skin of Soonyoung’s throat and smiling breathlessly. “Shut up, just shut up, do you know how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this?” He presses his lips to Soonyoung’s again and nudges between his legs so he can pull him by the hips to the edge of the counter, flush against him. Soonyoung’s legs wrap around him and he holds him by the small of his back, kissing him more and more insistently, open mouthed and frantically clinging to each other. 

Eventually they slow, and pull apart enough to look at each other—Wonwoo lets out this tired, manic half-laugh, half-sob. “You make me fucking crazy, Kwon. You know that?” 

Soonyoung brings a hand back to Wonwoo’s cheek, and stretches up to kiss him just once, and then finally he grins. “You love it,” he whispers. He strokes Wonwoo’s cheek, and pushes some hair back from Wonwoo’s face as Wonwoo scrunches up his nose and beams. They pull each other close again, lips meeting gentler this time—they’re both smiling and trying to kiss through it. It’s stupid. Wonwoo is so happy. _”‘Fuck your cake and eat it too?’”_ Soonyoung eventually asks, scandalized. 

Wonwoo chuckles against his mouth. “I was in the moment.” 

“Still...gross. _So_ weird, Wonwoo.” 

“Watch it, or I won’t fuck you _or_ eat you.” 

“Oh, as if you could resist.” 

Great point. “Probably not.” 

Soonyoung sighs, hard. “God, I hope I deserve you.”

There’s so much between them, still—things they’ll have to address and work through—but they _know,_ now. Now they know. So Wonwoo shakes his head. “Don’t start that yet,” he says. “I think we’ve earned the right to, just...enjoy this for a while, right?” He leans in to plant a kiss on Soonyoung’s cheek, then lingers at his ear. “I want us to be together,” he whispers.

Soonyoung’s arms tighten around his neck. “It’s gonna be hard,” he replies. “I had to lie to Prisma. It took hours of them interrogating me before I could convince them it wasn’t us, and...I don’t know that it even worked, for sure.” One of Soonyoung’s hands rests at the back of Wonwoo’s head, fingers curling gently into his hair. “But I want that too.” 

__

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

Wonwoo takes Soonyoung to his bed after that. Soonyoung is eager to get Wonwoo out of his clothes, sending the buttons on his shirt flying—but Wonwoo laughs, and then takes his hands, kissing the back of each one. “Slow down, tiger.” 

Soonyoung pouts. “We haven’t done anything for like a week and a half, Wonwoo, I’m dying. I miss you.” With a smile, Wonwoo pulls Soonyoung’s shirt over his head, and nudges him onto his back. “I miss coming with you,” he sighs, and it sends a shock of want through Wonwoo as he kisses down his neck, across his chest. He flicks his tongue over one of Soonyoung’s nipples, making him gasp. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Please.” 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Soonie,” Wonwoo says, still working his way down Soonyoung’s body. He takes Soonyoung’s pants off slow enough to make him whine—he’s hard already and reaching out for Wonwoo again. 

“ _Please,”_ he repeats. Wonwoo’s reminded of his impatience their first time, but he doesn’t give into it tonight. He continues down Soonyoung’s torso with his mouth, nibbling at the jut of Soonyoung’s hipbone and then pushing his thighs further apart, urging him to bend his knees or sling his legs over Wonwoo’s shoulders. “Shit,” he mutters when he realizes what Wonwoo has in mind—and when Wonwoo finally drags his tongue over Soonyoung’s entrance it makes his back arch and one hand tangle in Wonwoo’s hair. “Ah—Wonwoo—“ His mouth hangs open as Wonwoo licks at him hungrily and when Wonwoo’s tongue starts to push inside him he cries out and tightens his hands in Wonwoo’s hair, wrenches his head up. “Wonwoo,” he says, panting. “I’m not gonna last long, you need to fuck me already.” 

So Wonwoo does. It’s familiar when he enters Soonyoung, the feeling and the small sound Soonyoung makes, but when Wonwoo kisses him Soonyoung’s breath catches like it’s the first time their lips have touched. They make up for lost time, or realize they have all the time in the world—either way, they’re smiling at each other and at how ridiculous this all is and how glad they are to finally do this, like this. Wonwoo’s careful, this time: no teeth or marks or bruises, no visual evidence besides the flush across Wonwoo’s cheeks or Soonyoung’s chest. He doesn’t sink his teeth into the place where Soonyoung’s neck slopes into his shoulder; he leaves kisses and soft, breathy sounds there instead. Soonyoung trails his fingertips over Wonwoo’s skin at first, but as Wonwoo’s thrusts get faster and Soonyoung’s moans get louder it’s the palms of his hands flat against Wonwoo’s cheek, or curled around his bicep, or pressed at the small of his back, or clutching at his shoulders, desperate to hold onto him. He pulls Wonwoo in for a kiss, which muffles the groan Wonwoo lets out when Soonyoung hooks his ankles behind his back and forces him deeper, squeezing tighter until Wonwoo’s gasping and lost in him; as if he hasn’t been lost in him for as long as he can remember. 

“Oh, fuck,” Soonyoung breathes against his lips, “Wonwoo, that’s—don’t stop—”

As Wonwoo keeps his movements steady, Soonyoung’s breathing gets harder and faster—“Fuck, Wonwoo, fuck me, touch me,” he moans, and cries out when Wonwoo starts to stroke his cock slowly. 

He kisses Soonyoung again, messy and wet and desperate, overwhelmed with pleasure and arousal. He fucks Soonyoung faster and groans again before tucking his face into Soonyoung’s shoulder. He whines. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Soonyoung asks softly, stroking Wonwoo’s hair soothingly. Wonwoo nods against him, too far gone for words, and thank goodness for that, because there’s no telling what he’d say. “Are you gonna come,” Soonyoung murmurs, and Wonwoo nods again and squeezes Soonyoung’s cock tighter, stroking him faster. “Shit, shit, shit,” he starts repeating, about to snap, and Wonwoo forces his head up to he can see his face when he comes—he’s got one hand raised up above his head, clutching at the pillow, eyes closed and face flushed, back arching. His mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut tight and then he’s spilling over Wonwoo’s fist, moaning loudly as Wonwoo coaxes everything he can out of him. 

His own orgasm creeps up as he watches Soonyoung, though he tries to hold back as Soonyoung comes down, sighing—not because he thinks he’ll leave, this time, but because he’s still inside him and he doesn’t want to overstimulate him. But Soonyoung looks at him, and sighs out “Go on, go ahead,” and Wonwoo breaks, letting out a whimper and fucking deep into him until the way Soonyoung watches him, the way his fingers stroke his jawline and thread through his hair send him careening over the edge. 

“Jesus, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung laughs. It hasn’t been nearly long enough for Wonwoo to process language yet, so he just laughs along with him. “If I knew _that’s_ what I was missing out on…” 

Fairly sure his bones have turned to jelly, Wonwoo just melts into the bed and looks at Soonyoung. And Soonyoung looks back, and smiles. 

Wonwoo smiles too, as the first coherent thought comes to his mind: Soonyoung wants to _be_ with him. 

“Can I tell you…” Soonyoung says, biting his lip. “This is so stupid. I left my phone on purpose, that night.”

It’s nowhere near as funny as Wonwoo’s sexually and emotionally exhausted brain finds it. He giggles, wrinkling his nose. “I only got drunk because I was jealous you were making out with Hoseok.” 

“I was only making out with Hoseok to make you jealous,” Soonyoung says, quieter. 

With that, Wonwoo expends the very last bit of energy he has to lean over enough to kiss Soonyoung softly, and then let himself flop back, only to feel Soonyoung’s arms encircle him. 

He huffs out a laugh. “We are such fucking idiots.” 

  


— — —

  


Hyesung isn’t angry, and offers to do whatever will make things easiest—Wonwoo says it has to stay a secret until at _least_ the end of the series, because Soonyoung could get in huge trouble. Jihoon, when he had brought groceries over, had said _I told you I didn’t trust this,_ but he’d sighed, and looked apologetic, because _this_ hadn’t exactly been what he was afraid of. 

Despite that, Wonwoo had smiled, and told him _I can’t wait for you to meet him. The real him._

Wonwoo hasn’t seen Soonyoung since their last night together—he’s been the one shouldering the damage control appearances and the public denial. He’d thought it would hurt more to hear Soonyoung laugh at the idea of them together, say he’d rather die and he can’t believe anyone would even think it—but it just doesn’t seem to _matter._ Almost nothing does, in fact. Wonwoo has Soonyoung. They have each other. There’s only three races left. Wonwoo can handle that, when what he’s getting at the end whether he wins or not is a thousand times better than a trophy. 

The other drivers are getting asked about it—even the ones who’ve been eliminated already. Most of them give pre-packaged answers, and affirm that Wonwoo and Soonyoung hate each other and they’ve never seen them together. It’s not until Chan, who doesn’t have a company to fire him, gets asked that any of the press gets something different. 

He’d scowled, and said: “Who fucking cares?” 

“Oh dear,” Soonyoung had laughed through the phone. “Wonder where _that’s_ going to leave us?” 

“He’s been sick of our bullshit for months. I think that’s been a long time coming.” 

Chan goes on to say that of course he doesn’t think they’re together, but asks again: who _cares?_

Wonwoo’s heart warms. “I hope that won’t cause trouble for you,” he says to Soonyoung, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. 

He knows people do care, and he knows why. This is a soap opera for them—they’re invested. It’s the nature of this industry, and he can’t blame them for it, though he is getting tired of having to see Soonyoung through a screen, rather than in person. 

“I miss you,” Soonyoung says then, as if he’s heard Wonwoo’s thoughts. “And I’m sorry.” _For having to say these things about you. That we can’t just be together, and it’s my fault._

“I miss you too, and you don’t have to be.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, then Soonyoung speaks again. “I think—I think everyone knows, Wonwoo.” 

“How d’you mean?” 

“Hayoung said—and like, she knew before, obviously, but—she had this whole speech about like, _you’re surrounded by people who’ve been racing alongside you for years, Soonyoung, we know you, nothing’s going to happen if we can help it.”_ Wonwoo chews absently on the inside of his cheek. “So either they all know, or, like. I don’t even know what else that could mean, really.” 

Huh. They’ve been trying hard to hide it from everyone, to be cold to each other around _everyone._ It would be nice not to have to hide _all_ the time, even for the few short weeks left of the series. 

So when Soonyoung arrives in the change room before the next race, he walks over and takes the space beside Wonwoo, sitting his bag down and smiling at him before starting to change. It’s just a few of them in the room, some of whom already knew, but Eunbi and Minghao barely react, and Mingyu and Seungkwan and Sakura who’ve gone out but are there to watch don’t either. Wonwoo feels his cheeks go red. He gives Soonyoung a glance, and Soonyoung winks at him cheekily—but there’s genuine happiness underneath it. 

It’s bittersweet when Minghao places last, but Wonwoo can’t find it in himself to dwell on it much—he hugs Minghao after the awards, and Minghao whispers “I’m happy for you, Wonwoo, but I’d still really love for you to beat him,” in his ear. Confirmation that people _know_ is more affecting than Wonwoo thought it would be, so he unwraps his arms from around Minghao with wide eyes. “Relax. No point in me trying to sabotage either of you now, is there?” Wonwoo smiles. “But seriously, if you can do it, there’s hope for the rest of us yet. We’re counting on you.” 

Soonyoung does his post-win interviews and fields all sorts of questions about Wonwoo, their utter lack of togetherness, if there’s anyone he _does_ have his eye on, what driver _would_ he date if given the chance; it goes on for so long Wonwoo nearly falls asleep waiting for him. When he does finally come bouncing into the change room, Wonwoo perks up. 

“What are you so happy about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Soonyoung makes sure they’re alone, and presses a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. “We just made it to the semifinal, Wonwoo. _Together._ We might make the final, _together._ ” He beams. “ _And_ we’re all anyone can talk about. I’m very happy for us, is all.” He slips his hand into Wonwoo’s. “I’m proud of us.” 

With a sigh, Wonwoo lets Soonyoung pull him to his feet. “I wish I could see you tonight,” he says, pouting. 

It makes Soonyoung chuckle, and hook his wrists behind Wonwoo’s neck. “Tomorrow, baby,” he says. “We can make it.” 

As Wonwoo packs his things, he thinks he should feel happier—he _does_ feel happy, but for some reason this all feels more fragile and ephemeral than ever now that he knows how Soonyoung feels. It’s more important to keep it now, he supposes, so it’s scarier to think of losing it. 

He doesn’t know. There’s just this small shadow hanging over him tonight, for whatever reason. 

**soonyoung** ▶︎ _see you tomorrow gorgeous_

It’s followed by a barrage of selfies, and then even more heart emojis, and Wonwoo sighs happily. He feels guilty for having those weird feelings, but he thinks, honestly, it’s because he doesn’t want anything to go wrong, this is too precious and important and it’s still too new to feel unbreakable. 

When the series ends. Then he’ll feel safer, more solid. They can make it till then. 

  


“Can you turn on Prisma’s feed?” Soonyoung calls from his kitchen. Wonwoo fixes him with a glare. “I know, I know, no work, but I just want to see what people are _saying,”_ he whines. 

Flaring his nostrils, Wonwoo shakes his head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he says, and turns on the tv. 

It’s nonstop weighing of odds and recapping of the season, now. Wonwoo scrolls until he finds someone talking about Soonyoung, so that they can hopefully get back to making dinner sooner. The man on screen is detailing Soonyoung’s lap times and the way the public has received his storyline this series, and Wonwoo tries to tune it out. 

But something catches his attention. 

“And of course, we can’t ignore the way Soonyoung’s popularity has skyrocketed again, here at the very end of the season. Now, we aren’t sure what was going on in the middle, when he was flying under the radar, but it can’t be denied his star had faded a bit—though, a faded Kwon Soonyoung is still brighter than most of the other drivers on their best days. These Wonwoo rumors have certainly picked things up for him again; for both of them, really, but we know…” 

Wonwoo’s eyes flick upward and find Soonyoung staring at him. He squints. Everything that consultant said was true…

Soonyoung bites his lip. The tv has faded away as they hold eye contact with each other—and then Wonwoo blinks, and Soonyoung’s expression changes to something like shame— 

“Wonwoo,” he says, almost pleading, and Wonwoo lets out a breath. He leans forward onto the kitchen counter, covers his face and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t want to let himself believe this. “No, no, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung is saying, and soon he’s made his way over to him—Wonwoo can’t see him, but he feels a hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t what you’re thinking, I _swear_ it isn’t, you have to believe me.” 

“Okay,” he says, as measured as he can even as his head snaps up to look at Soonyoung. “What is it?” 

Lifting a hand to run through Wonwoo’s hair, Soonyoung’s eyes roam over his face. Then he looks down. “I told Yujin—“ Wonwoo stands straight, lightning fast. “Please, just listen, it was this night I was freaking out about everything and I got drunk and had to call her to pick me up—it just came out. I wouldn’t have told her on purpose. And then a few days later she—she brought up the idea of leaking it—“ 

This cannot be happening. Wonwoo starts shaking his head and laughing. 

“Which I _obviously_ said no to, Wonwoo, I told her, I _told_ her I wasn’t sure—“ 

“Not sure.” 

“Wonwoo, _listen,_ I told her I didn’t want to and she did it anyway—“ His shoulders slump, and he has to look away from Wonwoo’s face and the betrayal and hurt that cover it. “I told her not to,” he says, voice breaking at the end. 

He can’t believe he’s back here. “And you thought that would stop her? You _know_ these people,” he says. 

“No, okay? I did not think it would stop her! But I already told her, so what could I do?!” 

After a moment of watching Soonyoung’s face stay in that same shameful expression, Wonwoo glances back toward the tv. Then his eyebrows raise. “You’re glad,” he says. 

There’s just enough of a pause for Wonwoo’s heart to fall into his stomach. “What?” 

“You’re glad she did it. You’re _trending_ again,” he spits, gesturing toward the tv, “so you’re glad.” 

Soonyoung shakes his head, slowly. “...That isn’t true,” he whispers. “Please don’t overreact, that’s not—” 

“Overreact, Soonyoung? After all the sneaking around and the hiding and then finally—after _everything,_ Soonyoung?” Soonyoung covers his mouth, shaking his head faster. Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair restlessly. “I can’t fucking _believe_ I thought this time was different.” 

A frightened little sob escapes Soonyoung. “It is, you know it is—” 

“Then why do I feel like I’ve been left on a roof again?!” 

Soonyoung’s face goes blank. He crosses his arms, and lowers his eyebrows. There are tears threatening to spill over, but he looks at Wonwoo, determined. “No.” 

“No?” 

He watches Soonyoung step toward him, a few tears finally making their way down his cheeks. “No,” he affirms, and grabs Wonwoo’s hand, squeezing it. “If you’re angry, and we need to fight, then we need to just fucking do it and handle it like grown-ups. No more storming off, no more leaving things for years, and no more saying the most hurtful thing you can think of just to get the last word in.” God fucking damnit. Wonwoo tries to pull away, still too angry to want to hear _logic,_ but Soonyoung doesn’t let him. “I’m not letting go of your hand again,” he says, with finality. 

Wonwoo sighs, hard, and tries to push his anger away. “I’m listening.” 

They make their way to the sofa and Soonyoung turns off the tv. “I was just trying to figure things out and it was hard and we hadn’t talked, which I _know_ was my fault. It’s not an excuse, but it’s what happened. I didn’t know it was her for sure until a few days ago and then I didn’t know how to tell you,” he whispers. 

“But you _could have told me.”_

“I know, but…” Soonyoung turns red and looks away. “I was upset I kept losing and other drivers were getting more attention.” He sniffs. “You were right. When I saw what it did for me...I was glad. Not for long. But at first.” Wonwoo sighs. “You must be so disappointed,” Soonyoung says as his face crumples and he starts to cry in earnest. 

Wonwoo bites his lip. He isn’t sure what to say, but he has always hated seeing Soonyoung cry. “Soonie…” he says, not trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He knows Soonyoung didn’t mean for this. He knows. But still. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I never would have _told_ her to do it, Wonwoo. I told her I didn’t want to.” 

“I know. I know. It’s just…” 

God, Soonyoung looks heartbroken. “I wish I could stop fucking everything up for us,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told her, I—I should have told you when it happened. I’m sorry. She just—she started saying all this stuff about how it’s because of this I’m doing worse this season, and if I want to stay relevant I have to make these kinds of choices, and I know she only said it to try to get me to agree to the stupid stunt but it got in my head and...I wish I could say that kind of thing doesn’t matter to me but I’m awful, so I can’t.” 

“You’re not awful.” 

“Really? Jealous of _Hyunjoon?_ Using you for publicity, _again?_ It’s fucking pathetic, Wonwoo. I’m such an idiot.” 

It shatters Wonwoo’s anger into sadness, and then into sympathy. “Stop it.” He takes Soonyoung’s hand. “You’re not any of that.” It doesn’t convince Soonyoung, who just shakes his head and pulls his hand away. So Wonwoo gets in the floor, kneels in front of him. “Soonyoung. Listen to me.” This is ridiculous, he’s decided. There’s two fucking races left. “I am not going to be your secret forever. Neither of us want that, right?” Soonyoung shakes his head. “But it’s our only option right now, so I’d...I’d rather just be there for each other than waste time being mad at you over something you didn’t choose.” 

Soonyoung’s lip quivers. “Are you sure?” 

The last time Soonyoung had asked him that, he hadn’t been, and he’d lied, but it had worked out. “Yes.” 

It’s not a lie this time, so Wonwoo’s hopes are high. 

It still overwhelms Soonyoung and causes him to burst into tears again, but Wonwoo just chuckles and holds him. 

  


Soonyoung has meetings with the company for most of the week. He’s quiet about them when Wonwoo actually gets to see him, and it worries Wonwoo. They’d agreed to keep each other posted, so either Soonyoung has nothing to say—doubtful—or he’s not saying it—unacceptable. Wonwoo has to believe that if it was anything that could affect them, Soonyoung would tell him, or at least will when he’s ready. Which is hopefully soon. They’re so close to being through this shit, and Wonwoo just doesn’t want to deal with any more drama. 

He finally tells him the night before the semifinal. “They want me to lose,” he says softly, with Wonwoo laying on his chest. His tone of voice is so casual Wonwoo doesn’t realize what he’s said at first. 

Then, Wonwoo raises his head. “What?” 

Soonyoung’s eyes meet his. “They want me to lose tomorrow, and not race the final.” Wonwoo sits up, and holds his hands palms up, incredulous. “A _total upset,_ they said. It’ll be incredible for media play. You know...apparently. My stunning defeat at the hands of my ex-best friend,” he finishes with a _smile,_ bizarrely. He reaches out for one of Wonwoo’s hands and swings it back and forth gently. 

This is...making Wonwoo incredibly uneasy. Why is Soonyoung so...not Soonyoung about this? Wonwoo blinks. “They want you to _lose,”_ Wonwoo repeats. He blinks again when the rest of what Soonyoung said sets in. “They want—they want _me_ to win?” 

_“Looks that way,”_ Soonyoung sing-songs. “They said I’m not obligated to do anything but their advice is that in order to maximize brand potential I need to have a whole...fall from grace moment. To make the fans sympathize, and not just like me because I’m snarky or pretty, or because I win all the time. The _people_ need to think I _deserve_ it.” 

There’s a long, long pause. Wonwoo scowls. “Well, that’s fucking bullshit.” 

Soonyoung had looked down again, absently tracing Wonwoo’s fingers. But he looks up at that. “Yeah…” A hesitant smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah? It really kind of is.” He sits up, then. “I figured...I don’t know what I figured you’d say.” 

“You can’t do it. You aren’t going to do it, right?” 

He watches Soonyoung’s mouth open and shut a couple of times. “I hadn’t...decided. They...they’d make sure it was you, you know. Anything else makes my losing not worth it. And it’s their race. They can do that.” 

Wonwoo snorts. “Is that how you’d wanna win?” 

The smile on Soonyoung’s face shrinks a bit, again. He shrugs, and looks down. “We always knew it was kind of fake.” 

“Sure, but…” Wonwoo lifts Soonyoung’s chin. “They’re supposed to build the stories around the rankings, not the other way around, right? I...I like racing because I love driving and I like the competition and even the stupid stories—y’know, within reason.” Soonyoung’s face softens. “I’m not here to win at any cost, by any means necessary. But I do _like_ to win. And I do still want to beat you. But I want to do it because I’m a great driver, and my team built me the sexiest engine known to man, and I _certainly_ don’t want to do it so Kwon Soonyoung’s god damn _brand potential_ can be _maximized.”_

Soonyoung laughs. He scrunches up his nose, then purses his lips. “I don’t want to lose. I just want to race.” He shakes his head. “I’m not gonna do it.” 

Finally, Wonwoo lays back again. “Good.” 

Soonyoung lays down as well, letting Wonwoo gather him into his arms. There’s quiet, for a second. “...It’s a threat, I think. Yujin is one thing...the higher ups will be so pissed if they find out I lied.” 

That figures. Wonwoo isn’t surprised. He chooses his words very carefully. “Babe...Hyesung...would take you back. If it ever came to that.” 

“You think?” 

“I know it.” 

Soonyoung squints, looking off into space. “I love the company. And my teammates. This is just...how they do things.” 

As Wonwoo is _well_ aware. “Is it worth staying?” Soonyoung shrugs. “Am I worth leaving?” 

“Ha,” Soonyoung says, shooting Wonwoo a devilish grin. “You want me to leave the top racing company in the world for you?” 

He doesn’t, and it wasn’t fair of him to say it, though Soonyoung doesn’t seem to have taken offense. “..No. Of course I don’t.” 

It just seems so unnecessary, all this. But Wonwoo’s never had the sense for how this works. He’s always been happy in his company—the company’s never been the problem. Soonyoung sighs. “I don’t _want_ to leave Prisma,” he says. Then he smiles. “If I did, though, and if I did it for you...yes.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, it would be worth it.” 

Even though it spreads warmth all throughout Wonwoo’s body, he shakes his head. “I’d never ask you to.” 

“I know you wouldn’t. I don’t know if I ever could. But if I did...I mean, I wouldn’t for any other reason. I might for you.” 

“Well, that’s something,” Wonwoo murmurs with a grin, and kisses him. 

  


As they’re waiting to be announced, right before the semifinal, Wonwoo turns around, and Soonyoung grins. “I’m not losing tonight, Jeon. I’m gonna race harder than I’ve ever raced. Hope you can keep up.” He tiptoes to kiss him softly and pulls away smiling. “Good luck,” he says. 

“I love you,” Wonwoo responds, just before his name gets announced. 

Soonyoung’s mouth drops open. “You—it—what?!” Frantically, he looks around, and the announcer repeats Wonwoo’s name hesitantly. “You love me?” Soonyoung asks softly, shellshocked and disbelieving. 

Wonwoo can’t stop smiling. He feels lighter than air now that he’s finally got out these words that have been fighting to break free for _years._ He nods. Soonyoung stares. 

_Um, Jeon Wonwoo?_ the announcer says again. 

It’s enough to snap Soonyoung out of it. He shakes his head, and then _shoves_ Wonwoo, as hard as he can. “Ow,” Wonwoo laughs. The face Soonyoung is making is somewhere between joy and rage. 

“Go, go, I love you too but _go,_ you fucking idiot!” Soonyoung hisses, and Wonwoo’s eyes go wide, smiling crazily as he lets Soonyoung push him out of the entrance tunnel. He said it back. Waving and smiling, Wonwoo runs out to greet the crowd and get in his car. He said it back. A few minutes later the race starts. He said it _back._

Soonyoung places _fifth,_ his lowest since their first series, but he’s in the final—and Wonwoo comes second to Hayoung. _They’re_ in the final. Together. And Soonyoung said he _loves_ him. Wonwoo’s giddy and delirious through his post-race interviews, just doing his best to get through them so he can find the love of his stupid life and kiss his whole entire face; he doesn’t even know who else made it through, he has no idea who Soonyoung beat for the last spot in the top five. He walks through the complex as fast as he can, and he’s halfway down a dark corridor when he hears footsteps behind him and spins around to catch Soonyoung in his arms. “You are such an _asshole,”_ Soonyoung growls, hugging him as hard as he can and then pulling away to bring his hands to either side of Wonwoo’s face. “You see what you do to me? Fifth place?! I’ve never driven so badly in my _life,”_ he says, smiling breathlessly. 

“I didn’t think you’d say it back,” Wonwoo laughs. 

Soonyoung looks around, then takes his hand and drags him toward a door to a stairwell, and once they’re inside he pulls Wonwoo in to bring their lips together. “Was this just a clever ploy to try and knock me out of the Cup, Jeon?” he breathes, smile evident in his voice. “Playing the long game, are we? Make me fall in love and then stab me in the back when I least expect it?” 

“Yes. You’ve found me out.” He holds Soonyoung’s waist and pivots so he has him up against the wall, and kisses him some more, toying with the zipper of his jumpsuit before dragging it down to reveal his neck and chest— 

This is stupid. But it’s not the stupidest place they’ve done this. And they’re in the final, and they’re in love. 

Soonyoung gasps when Wonwoo’s teeth scrape along his neck. “I knew it,” he sighs. “Boys like you are just—” Wonwoo nips at his collarbone, and he lets out a quiet little cry. “Just too good to be true— _fuck,_ Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo’s giddy again, and has one hand reaching down the front of Soonyoung’s jumpsuit and the other pushing it off his shoulders. “I don’t even know who’s out,” he laughs into Soonyoung’s neck, and Soonyoung freezes. At the sudden change in mood, Wonwoo lifts his head and watches Soonyoung’s face fall. 

“Oh shit,” he says quietly, realization dawning. “I just—I just eliminated Hyunjoon.” Wonwoo sighs, and steps back. “Oh, god, he’s gonna hate me.” 

“He won’t, babe—go find him, you’ll see.” Soonyoung makes a face like he wants to argue, but doesn’t actually know what to do. “No, it’s important. He won’t hate you, but he’s probably...you know. Go on, and you can find me later, okay? I’ll be around.” He kisses Soonyoung’s forehead. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Soonyoung’s eyes close when Wonwoo’s lips touch his skin, and stay closed for a moment after he pulls away. He beams, and nods, and then exits the stairwell. 

Staring at the door Soonyoung had disappeared through, Wonwoo laughs. He squeezes his eyes shut, smiling, and covers his mouth in incredulous joy. It’s been so _long_ that he’s been waiting for this, even when he didn’t realize he was waiting for it, and now he _has_ it, and he could _scream._ His whole body is vibrating with love and adrenaline—god, he’s in the _final,_ he keeps _forgetting_ that part, what with the whole Soonyoung thing—everything has been leading to this, and whatever happens now, he thinks it’ll be worth it. There are things that are still up in the air, but he knows Soonyoung loves him, and he gets to race against some of his favorite people for the most prestigious honor in the racing world, and that’s...it’s enough. 

  


When Soonyoung shows up at Wonwoo’s room, Wonwoo’s in bed, but not asleep, and as soon as he sees Soonyoung he holds out his arms. Soonyoung sinks down next to him and lets himself be folded up against him. “Well?” Wonwoo asks. 

“He’s devastated,” Soonyoung says. “But he doesn’t hate me. And I think I feel awful, but I’m kind of having a hard time thinking about anything but the fact that you said you _love_ me.” 

Snickering, Wonwoo kisses the side of Soonyoung’s head. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” 

“How did you mean it to come out?” 

“I _meant_ it to come out five years ago. At least.” 

Soonyoung sits up, and stares. “You—for that long?” 

The let down from the excitement of earlier is catching up to Wonwoo, and he stretches, and yawns. “Well, yes. I mean...it was kind of touch and go there for awhile, but. Here we are.” 

“Here we are,” Soonyoung repeats, and kisses him. Wonwoo tries to deepen it, but Soonyoung pulls away slightly. “You really didn’t think I’d say it back?” he asks, pouting. 

“I wasn’t sure. You’ve never been the most forthcoming with...these kinds of things. But I was tired of not saying it, so.” 

Soonyoung puts a hand on Wonwoo’s cheek. “I do love you,” he whispers. “I do. I’m sorry I’m so bad at it. I’m going to be better, because you’re—my best friend. And you’re beautiful, and wonderful, and an idiot and talented and strong and sexy and easily the best person in this galaxy, probably the next one over too, and I just—I would do anything for you, Wonwoo, because I love you and I just...love you, and I want you, forever and ever.” 

“Um,” Wonwoo manages after a second. “Wow. I...wow?” Soonyoung’s ears have gone red. Wonwoo smirks. “You think I’m sexy?” 

Nostrils flaring, Soonyoung smacks him lightly in the shoulder. “Shut. Up. I’m not as good with words as you, even when I’ve had a long time to think about it.” 

“I didn’t expect sonnets in—what, six hours?” 

Soonyoung laughs, and brings his face close. “If you believe I’ve only been thinking about that for six hours you’re out of your sexy little mind, Jeon.” 

It hits Wonwoo, then, all at once. _Everything,_ the events of the season, the events of the past few years, Soonyoung telling him he _loves_ him—Soonyoung loves him. Soonyoung is in love with him. Soonyoung wants him forever and ever. He puts his hands on Soonyoung’s chest and looks down, and sniffles. 

__

“What—oh my god, are you crying?” Furiously, Wonwoo shakes his head. “Wonwoo, Wonwoo, why are you _crying?”_

He needs a second to collect himself, or Soonyoung’s gentle hands thumbing over his cheeks are going to make him even weepier. “I’m not,” he lies, though nothing’s actually escaped his eyes yet. “I just…” He lets out a breath. “I didn’t think we’d ever get here.” And he really, really didn’t. It’s still a little unreal. 

“Well, we’re here, baby,” Soonyoung says, chuckling. “Get used to it already.” 

Wonwoo bites his lip. “Can I tell you something,” he whispers. “Nothing bad,” he continues when confusion and concern flashes in Soonyoung’s eyes. Soonyoung nods, and Wonwoo takes a breath. 

It all tumbles out at once. “I’ve told myself so many different reasons for getting so hellbent on beating you—I wanted to make you mad, get revenge, get one up on you because I thought it would get us to work things out—which, weirdly, did end up being true, but it wasn’t any of that, Soonyoung,” he says. Soonyoung tilts his head curiously. “When I won before, the _first_ time I won, do you remember that? You said it was me and you always and—the way you looked at me—” A little shuddering gasp forces its way through Wonwoo, from the effort of holding back his tears and the weight of what he’s saying. “I just wanted you to look at me like that again,” he finishes, trailing off pathetically as his voice breaks, and Soonyoung pulls him against him in a fierce hug, the force of it nearly knocking the wind out of Wonwoo. “I thought maybe winning would—” 

“Shh,” Soonyoung says, rubbing circles on Wonwoo’s back. “You hush.” His voice sounds tearful as well, and Wonwoo feels so at home and understood and cared for in his arms that he just hides his face in Soonyoung’s shoulder and lets himself cry silently for a second. Soonyoung nudges him up after, cradling his face in his hands. “I will look at you like that every single day for the rest of my life. I can promise you that, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

  


— — —

  


**chan** ▶︎ _Hey, I know you’ve had a ton of shit going on so you might not think you did anything, but thanks for being there for me, I don’t think I’d be in the final if it wasnt for you. ok bye hope I win_

  


**juho** ▶︎ _My flight just landed :)_

**minho** ▶︎ _me and the ladies will be arriving on the morrow_

**juho** ▶︎ _For the last time it’s so fucking creepy when you refer to our sister and niece as “The Ladies” and say shit like “on the morrow” in the same breath_

**minho** ▶︎ _WHAT SHOULD I CALL THEM THEN_  
**minho** ▶︎ _anyway wonners please win you have no idea the amount of people at uni who are betting against you and i cant just not take their bets or i look like 1. a pussy 2. a bad brother. i dont have enough money to pay everyone off Please_

**seulgi** ▶︎ _Jinsook has my phone and just read the word pussy out loud :(_

  


**saerom** ▶︎ _knock em dead honey!!!_

  


**jihoon** ▶︎ _is that raise still on the table if you win._  
**jihoon** ▶︎ _no but really because i'm pretty sure you're going to win_

**hansol** ▶︎ _AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_

  


“You may as well turn it off,” Soonyoung says. “Or it’ll be going all night. Also, you’re supposed to be paying attention to me, I’m trying to make a toast.”

“Sorry, sorry…” 

He’d snuck Wonwoo up to the roof of the garage complex, where there’d been a _picnic_ set up. It’s the night before the final, and he’s clearly feeling nostalgic, and romantic—Wonwoo just didn’t realize he was planning to go _this_ far. 

He clears his throat, holding up his glass. “So. Here we are...on a roof,” he says with a smirk. Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “And I just wanted to say...that it’s you and me, always, and you are much, much more than my best friend.” He bites his lip and smiles like he knows he’s being corny, but doesn’t care. He lifts one eyebrow. “To coming full circle.” 

Wonwoo leans over and kisses him. It’s quickly interrupted by Wonwoo’s phone buzzing. “Fucker,” Soonyoung scolds. 

The text ends up being a photo of Jinsook in her #11 gear, but this time she holds a rainbow #54 flag, and there’s glitter on her face. 

**seulgi** ▶︎ _She’s become slightly less loyal…_  
**seulgi** ▶︎ _;)_

Wonwoo flares his nostrils and sits his phone down so it can project the image in front of them. “You’ve stolen my biggest fan,” he says, and Soonyoung collapses in laughter. 

When he’s calmed down, he leans on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Do they know about me?” he asks. 

“My family?” Soonyoung nods. “Uh...they’re all...differing levels of informed.” 

He sits up, his eyes wide, but not angry. “You haven’t _told_ them?” 

Wonwoo scratches the back of his neck. “After the blind item went out I just...I didn’t want to put them in a weird position, so I just didn’t tell them one way or another. That way when they said they didn’t know to the billion people I’m sure have been harassing them about it, it wouldn’t be a lie.” He pauses. “But also, they aren’t stupid.” 

A laugh rings up from Soonyoung. “Please tell me at least one of them has heard good things?” 

“They have all heard good things. Some of them just don’t believe them.” It’s only half a joke, but Soonyoung laughs again anyway. 

“Well, I have been known to be bad from time to time.” 

  


They’re quiet as they walk back to the hotel—it’s nearly three a.m. by the time they finish eating, and reminiscing, and maybe some things they shouldn’t have done out in the open on a rooftop, so they pull up their masks and pull down their hats and decide to risk it. They’ve never gotten to walk hand in hand before; it’s always been one of them hurriedly dragging the other along—so it’s nice. Wonwoo’s happy. 

And then there’s a voice behind them. “Are you Jeon Wonwoo?” it says, and before they can think better of it, they both panic, and spin around to face it. 

It’s a girl, and she looks almost as scared as they do, like she’d had to work up the nerve—Wonwoo catches sight of a #11 button pinned to her jacket. She looks back and forth between them when they turn around. “Oh. Sorry—oh…” 

Wonwoo’s frozen to the spot, and Soonyoung’s gripping his hand so hard it’s shaking. 

But strangely, the girl just breaks into a quiet grin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” she babbles. 

“...That’s alright,” Wonwoo says, and pulls down his mask. He shakes his hand free of Soonyoung’s, and gives him a look—if they deny it, it looks a thousand times worse. So Soonyoung follows suit, and lowers his mask as well. “It’s no bother.” 

“I...I’m really rooting for you in the final, I’ve been such a huge fan since the beginning—I’ve been saving all year to fly out for this, I can’t wait for you to win it.” Her face falls, momentarily. “No offense,” she says to Soonyoung. 

He’s silent for a second, then he looks to Wonwoo, then back to the girl. Then he smiles. “None taken, sweetheart. I can’t wait for him to win it either.” He winks. The girl looks breathless. 

Oh dear, Wonwoo thinks, what have they gone and done now. “Did you want a picture?” he asks. 

She bites her lip. “Just an autograph, maybe,” she says, fumbling for her phone and stylus. The two of them sign for her as she watches with her hands clasped together. “Thank you, this is so—I—” She hesitates, and lowers her voice. “I won’t tell. I promise I won’t say anything. I’m really sorry for barging in, I didn’t realize—” 

“It’s alright,” Wonwoo says with a laugh. “But...that would be great if you could keep it quiet.” 

There’s another awkward moment of silence, and then she speaks again, even quieter. “I’m really glad you guys don’t hate each other,” she says, and smiles again. 

Wonwoo thinks his eyebrows must be in the sky. 

“A lot of us are waiting for you guys to...I mean. You know. Whatever this is, I don’t want to assume.” 

“Really?” Soonyoung asks. 

She nods. “But I won’t tell—I wouldn’t wanna ruin it in case you guys ever do decide to go public. I, uh, hope you can someday? It...must be hard, pretending to hate each other.” 

“Sometimes,” they say in unison. 

“Okay, um, well...sorry, again. Good luck to you both!” 

With that she leaves, scampering away with her head down. “Huh,” Soonyoung says. They pull up their masks again, and continue walking. 

“Wild,” Wonwoo says as Soonyoung slips his hand back into his. 

“Do you really think she won’t tell?” 

Wonwoo isn’t sure. He cocks his head. “I mean, _you_ told, so…” 

A hard nudge of Soonyoung’s shoulder against him nearly sends him to the ground. “Oh, be quiet.” They walk in silence the rest of the way, and it isn’t until they’ve reached Soonyoung’s room and it’s time for Wonwoo to go on to his that he speaks again. “I didn’t realize people wanted us to make up.” 

“They want us to do more than that, by the sound of it. If they only knew, right?” 

“Hm,” Soonyoung says, absently. 

Wonwoo chuckles. “What are you thinking, golden boy?” he asks, poking Soonyoung in the cheek. 

It jolts him back to reality, and he shakes his head. “Nothing,” he laughs. “Hey. Good luck tomorrow. I know I’m supposed to be dead set on winning, and, don’t get me wrong, I am. But good luck.” 

“Good luck,” Wonwoo replies, and then he watches Soonyoung’s face go from soft and dreamy to hard and determined.

“That’s all you get. Now it’s on. Go get some rest. Big day tomorrow.” 

Wonwoo snorts, and turns to leave, squeaking embarrassingly as Soonyoung smacks him on the ass before disappearing into his room. 

  


It’s eerily silent in the change room. The small amount of drivers left and the nerves and the stakes cause them all to swallow their words. Soonyoung sets up in front of the mirror instead of near Wonwoo—Wonwoo is endeared at his focus and determination _not_ to let Wonwoo distract him today. Chan is already ready, and leaning against a locker, chewing on his thumbnail, eyes darting around the room. Hayoung has Eunbi doing some kind of meditation in the corner, to help her center herself for her first final—and then there’s Wonwoo. He wonders if he’s the person with the least riding on this, now. Not that he doesn’t want to win. He does, and it’s possible if he loses it’ll come crashing down on him, how close he got, how he still wasn’t good enough. But that seems like less of an inevitability now than ever before. He likes everyone in the top five—more than likes, in some cases—and he’d be happy to see any of them win, he thinks. 

Except Soonyoung, maybe. But only because Soonyoung would never let him live it down, and he’s not sure his ass could handle the amount of victory fucking Soonyoung would surely insist on. 

Then again, that doesn’t sound so bad either. He still thinks he’d rather it was him. 

Soonyoung will be first announced tonight, since he was fifth last race, so they won’t have their moment alone right before. They take it in one of the bathrooms after their ten minute warning instead. They hold hands through their driving gloves, staring at each other before the last race of a season that’s changed both of their lives, and they find themselves lost for words. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says suddenly, looking up at him with fiery, steely eyes. “I am absolutely out of my mind in love with you. But you _know_ there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get away with my fucking championship.” 

Smirking, Wonwoo leans in close. “I love you too,” he says against Soonyoung’s ear, before backing away suddenly. “But like, try and fucking stop me.” He winks, and walks backwards out the door as Soonyoung shakes his head fondly. 

The crowd roars for him when he’s announced, and he lets it wash over him; he lets it propel him into his car, guide his finger onto the ignition. He thinks of his family out there cheering for him. Of the girl from last night. Of his tiny niece, and of Soonyoung. 

Fuck. Maybe he does have some shit riding on this. 

He feels a grin stretch across his face. 

“Three—” 

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow and he adjusts his grip on the wheel. 

“Two—” 

His foot hovers over the accelerator. 

“One—” 

In his rear view, Soonyoung’s #54 car shimmers. 

_Go._

Jihoon’s in his ear immediately. “I swear to god, Jeon, if you let that motherfucker _win_ after _everything—”_

“Don’t yell at him, Jihoon, he’s _busy—”_

“Both of you shut up! I’m not gonna let him win!” Wonwoo says, laughing. “Do your jobs!” 

Hansol tries to direct his attention to Eunbi, who’s coming up behind him, but Jihoon keeps going— “I’m serious, I don’t care _how_ tight his ass is—” 

“Wait, hang on, that’s _true?_ Why don’t either of you _tell_ me anything?” Hansol shouts, indignant. 

“I’m gonna turn you off, I swear to fucking god,” Wonwoo mutters as he clears a loop in the track, coming out ahead of Chan. 

At the end of the first lap, Wonwoo’s leading. He grins, and glances in his mirror, finding Soonyoung _right_ on his tail. “Shit, aren’t you supposed to warn me about that?” 

Hansol huffs in his ear. “We’re fighting.” 

Jihoon’s cackling. “Fight him after he wins, you little shit.” 

“Fine. Hayoung’s sneaking up while you’re distracted by your gay lover, watch it.” 

Halfway through the second lap, Soonyoung overtakes him. Wonwoo tries to get around him, but Soonyoung blocks him every time, maneuvering expertly across the track in front of him, forcing Wonwoo to let off the gas every time to avoid colliding with him. 

Soonyoung knows him too well, is the problem. So the next time Soonyoung cuts him off, Wonwoo lets the thrusters in his engine roar to life instead of backing off. It works—Soonyoung gets caught off guard, and Wonwoo is able to pull ahead of him. He smiles, and smacks his steering wheel in excitement with Jihoon and Hansol cheering in his ear. 

The two of them trade first place like that for awhile, seeing how far they can push each other, until the final lap, when Wonwoo decides—yeah. It would be nice to win. 

So he coaxes one last burst of speed out of his engine, and leaves Soonyoung behind. 

If Jihoon and Hansol are still talking to him, he can’t hear it. He’s going to _win._ Everyone who underestimated him, everyone who’s had faith in him—he’s going to do it, and show them all, and he’s going to make Soonyoung as proud as he always said he’d be. 

He can see the finish line. He doesn’t know who’s behind him. He thinks his tires might be smoking. He’s going to win. 

There’s a flash of blue outside his window, and Jihoon and Hansol shouting at him, and then the flag waves. He slams on his brakes, and comes to a screeching stop beside Lee Chan’s electric blue #17 car. 

The other three blow past them and come to their own stops further ahead, but Wonwoo just climbs out his window. Chan’s staring at him with wide eyes. Wonwoo rips off his helmet and the deafening sounds of the crowd pound at his ears. “Who fucking won?!” he shouts, but he can barely hear it himself. 

Chan looks around, and then shouts back, shaking his head—“I don’t know!” 

Around then, Hayoung bounds over to them. “Who won?!” 

“We don’t know,” they answer, and it’s about that time Wonwoo starts to laugh. It’s too ridiculous. Soonyoung and Eunbi walk over as well, Soonyoung beelining for Wonwoo. 

“Well...that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he says, grinning from ear to ear despite having just lost the Cup. 

_Sorry,_ Wonwoo mouths to him. Soonyoung just shakes his head. 

The announcer gathers them in front of the podium. “This one’s coming down to a photo finish, folks,” he says with a wink, and every face in the stadium turns toward the screen above the track. 

There’s Wonwoo, speeding toward the finish, and when Chan comes into frame the video slows down—he can almost hear everyone in the place leaning forward in their seats— 

.08 seconds, it had been. One of the closest finishes in Prisma Cup history. But it’s Chan. 

Wonwoo beams. There’s not even a _moment_ of disappointment. He turns and sees Chan staring at the screen, utterly stunned, and grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him as the crowd erupts again. Chan’s hands tremble as he covers his mouth and looks around to the rest of the top five as if there’s been a mistake. Wonwoo pulls him into a hug. “Okay, Mr. Out-in-the-Bottom-Five, I think they see the error of their ways,” he says. Chan’s too in shock to react, still, but he’s starting to smile. 

Soonyoung misses the podium by one place, with Hayoung taking third. He kisses her cheek as they’re led toward it, and claps Chan on the back, and shoots Wonwoo a soft smile, because he can’t do anything else. 

After the ceremony, Wonwoo hugs Chan again, and then feels a tug at his sleeve. “They want to interview us together,” Soonyoung says, voice hoarse from cheering throughout the awards with the rest of the crowd. Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, I know. Something about _after the season you two have had,_ blah blah. Is that okay?” 

The questions start out individually focused—no doubt the reporters have been given guidelines to follow in that regard. Neither of them can stop smiling, even when Soonyoung talks about being disappointed and having to try harder next year, he’s still smiling. Wonwoo tries not to let his fondness show on his face. 

“So tell us,” one of the journalists says eventually, when the boring questions have all been asked. “Does the rivalry end now that neither of you won? What comes next?” 

Wonwoo glances at Soonyoung, who just grins at him. “I think we both—” 

He finds himself cut off by Soonyoung grabbing his face and kissing him. 

For a second, Wonwoo thinks he hears an ocean of gasps and shouts and cheers explode around them, but very quickly all he can hear is his pulse in his ears. Everything else dwindles to a whisper, paling in comparison to Soonyoung’s mouth on his. He has no idea how long it lasts, only that it’s still dead silent when he opens his eyes and Soonyoung’s looking at him, beaming, raising his eyebrows and mouthing _Yeah?_ at him. 

Wonwoo nods, and the world un-mutes; he blinks at the sudden overload of sound and the multitude of cameras flashing around them. “To answer your question,” Soonyoung says, reaching out to snatch the mic from the reporter, “I’m going to be racing Jeon Wonwoo until the day I die.” He turns, slinging an arm over Wonwoo’s shoulders. “Right, babe?” he says, holding the mic out to Wonwoo. 

Soonyoung’s grinning from ear to ear, and Wonwoo is too, although now the sheer ridiculousness is getting to him and he shakes his head before laughing and trying to match Soonyoung’s level of cocksuredness. “I mean, I did just finish ahead of him. That doesn’t typically do much to make him _less_ competitive. In my...personal experience.”

This poor reporter got so much fucking more than she bargained for, and looks a little giddy. “I—right,” she says, her hand poised as if she’s still holding her mic, until she realizes she’s not. Soonyoung hands it back to her with a wink. She just stares at him, and keeps holding the mic toward him, so Soonyoung speaks into it. 

“Seriously, lady, fourth? _Fourth?_ I’m not even on the fucking podium, and you think I’m—what, fine with it?” He taps on her head with one finger. “I mean, hello. This guy’s going _down.”_ He looks around with a sparkling, devilish smile. “In more ways than one, know what I mean?” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes in fond embarrassment, and then facepalms. 

“Um, well,” the reporter says. “Congratulations to you both—and—well, congratulations?” 

Soonyoung blows her a kiss. Suddenly Hyesung is beside Wonwoo, shaking his head and smiling. He leans around Wonwoo, and addresses Soonyoung. “If you’ve accomplished what you set out to, Mr. Kwon…?” He gives Hyesung a nod, and Hyesung steps in front of them, apologizing and telling the reporters that they won’t be taking any more questions tonight. 

“Come on,” Soonyoung says into his ear. “I didn’t clear that with anyone, and I want to enjoy my last few moments of life.” He takes Wonwoo’s hand, and they run off toward the garage complex. 

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Wonwoo says, panting, when Soonyoung finally slows down and stops. “I can’t believe you did that. Won’t they fire you, or something?! _Fuck,_ Soonyoung,” he forces out. 

But Soonyoung only smiles, and shakes his head. “I did some research last night after what that fan said. People have been waiting for this—it’s going to double our brand power.” He holds Wonwoo’s face in his hands, and beams up at him, and Wonwoo nearly cries, because that’s his look. “And there’s nothing your people or mine can do about it, because what’s better than best friends turned rivals?” 

Wonwoo sighs, because Soonyoung is fucking brilliant and it is infuriating. “Rivals turned star-crossed lovers?” he says, a reluctant smile playing at his lips. 

“Bingo,” Soonyoung says, and throws his arms around Wonwoo’s neck to kiss him. 

They’re still kissing when they hear “Hey! Losers!” from behind them. They pull apart and turn to find Chan, wreathed in flowers and platinum. “I told you so,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at Wonwoo before he’s pulled back to a crowd of people fawning over him. 

They watch him for a moment, and then Wonwoo glances sidelong at Soonyoung. “Till you die, huh?” 

Soonyoung’s eyes flick toward his, and the glitter around them catches the light. He arches one eyebrow. “If you think you can keep up.” 

Wonwoo smiles. Soonyoung takes his hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah.........yeah
> 
> as always thank you to swn, i love you guys the most ever--and everyone reading this should definitely check out all the other works in this collection, soonwoo truly has so many talented people making content for them so please please please check out their stuff and leave them lots of love too! as a side note to this author's note, please forgive cat and i for writing basically the same fic. just kidding but also [hannibal buress voice] competitive sports is the same
> 
> finally, if you liked this, please leave a comment! OR you can [tweet me](https://twitter.com/wonuza), or drop by my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/nonu) if you're shy.


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